


The Devil's in the Details

by theywere-neverhomeless (a_pondicus)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Bondage and Discipline, Bottom Dean, Dark Sam Winchester, Dom/sub, Dominant/Top Sam, Dubious Consent, First Kiss, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Mild Piquerism, Murder, Possessive Sam Winchester, Serial Killer Sam, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Soulless Sam Winchester, Soulless!Sam, Submissive!Dean, Submissive/Bottom Dean, Torture, UST, Unresolved Sexual Tension, collaring, serial killer!Sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:34:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 38,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_pondicus/pseuds/theywere-neverhomeless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Serial killer! Sam fic. Please check the tags before reading.</p><p>Sam has a mild obsession with his brother. He knows Dean is in love with who Sam used to be, and he's determined to make Dean his. Dean will follow him into the darkness, whether he wants to or not.</p><p>~~~ON HIATUS UNTIL June 2017~~~~</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Truth is relative, Sam realizes about three months into his first year topside. It isn't concrete for everyone like it is for him. For Sam, either something is, or it isn't. And it applies blanketly; there are no grey areas. With people, (well, people with souls, that is) truth changes from thing to thing, person to person. He also notices that more often than not, people don't want the truth. Not really. The truth is ugly and harsh, and when people say "give it to me straight," or "I want your honest opinion," what they really want is a comforting lie.

It doesn't make sense to him. What's the point in deluding yourself? All it does is get you in varying degrees of shit later.

Dean – case in point. He wants Sam's opinions, his input. But he doesn't, really. He wants Sammy's opinions, the reserved and edited ones that he would give to placate Dean, make him happy or keep him from hurting. Sam can remember doing these things, remember his thought processes, but not having a soul really makes filtering those kind of thoughts from brain-to-mouth much more difficult.

He wishes Dean would just get the fuck over it. He's not his precious _Sammy,_ no, but he shouldn't have to put up with all these piteous and/or incredulous looks Dean gives him every time he says something off. It makes Sam want to gouge his brother's eyes out with the keys of the Impala. But he restrains himself, because some echo of his soul reminds him that Dean is important to him. More important than anything else. And his memories of the two of them together are proof of that. Out of respect for that feeling, that echo, Sam never lays a finger on Dean.

Well, at least not out of anger. And he doesn't start with his fingers.

\--

Twenty-three days after Sam and Dean start hunting things again without interruptions from Ben or Lisa, after that whole "Truth" escapade with the cat-bitch, Sam is lying in the shitty hotel bed with scratchy sheets and lumpy pillows with his eyes closed, mulling over the clues they'd pieced together about their current hunt. They're missing something, something obvious, and it's pissing him off. He freezes when he hears a muffled sound – a moan? - from Dean's side of the room. He stills, and listens intently for a moment, and when he hears nothing, he relaxes. The moment he does, a whispered "Sammy" passes Dean's lips as another moan. Sam's cock throbs gently in arousal as he realizes what Dean is doing. The softest rustle of sheets hit Sam's ears, along with the quiet sound of skin on skin. Sam's eyes are boring holes into Dean's back from his side of the room, remaining motionless as he watches the small movements of his brother in the dark. The second time he hears Dean moan his name, he's so hard it hurts.

 _Fuck, De,_ Sam thinks as he resists the urge to grind into the sheets. _Didn't know you had a thing for your baby brother._ Well, that's not exactly true. The boys shared a tentative, experimental kiss that Dean initiated when Sam was about ten after watching a sex scene in some B movie on the shitty hotel cable while John was on a hunt. He remembers how soft and pliable Dean's lips were, and how he let Sam lead the kiss, even though Dean was the elder and had supposedly plenty of experience with that sort of thing. Obviously, that had been over a decade ago, and they hadn't touched since, nor did they talk about the kiss – ever - but Sam wonders what Dean's lips feel like now, what his mouth tastes like. Sam indulges in that fantasy for a few minutes, listening to the soft sounds of self-pleasure coming from his brother's sinful lips. When Dean whimpers softly from his bed, Sam can hear that his pace has increased, and Sammy's name becomes a chant- a prayer, even. He must be close. His cock throbs painfully again at the thought. He's ten seconds away from losing all control and taking Dean right there when Dean lets out one last muffled cry of his brother's name, the sound almost completely swallowed by what Sam assumes to be a pillow his big brother is currently biting a chunk out of. Warring with himself, Sam's nails bite into his palm so harshly he knows there'll be bloody crescents in the morning. He'd rather rake bloody lines down Dean's back at this point, but he knows if he even breathes right now, Dean will probably shoot him. Soft rustling brings him back to reality, and he watches in the dark as his brother quietly slips out of his bed and into the bathroom. The second the bathroom door clicks shut, his hand is on his cock, pumping furiously.

 _Fuck, Dean,_ he thinks again, _so fucking hot._ He hears the faucet turn on, and he fists his cock faster, knowing if he doesn't hurry up he won't get his release before Dean comes back. He closes his eyes and pictures Dean on his knees, begging like a whore for his little brother to fuck his face, letting Sam yank on his hair, cuffed to the bed with his legs spread, scratch angry red marks across his skin, slam his cock into that tight little ass until…

"Fuck," Sam groans, biting his hand to muffle his voice as his orgasm crashes over him like a freight train. He keeps pumping slowly as he coats his stomach with his own come, riding out the last waves of bliss until he lets his head thump against the pillow with a shaky breath, his legs trembling with the force of his orgasm. Sam's no two-pump chump; Ruby could attest to that. Well, if she wasn't dead. But the incident just now nearly brings Sam to the edge of insanity. Or whatever insanity is to someone without a soul. After a moment to catch his breath, he yanks off his boxers and wipes himself off, then tosses the soiled garment on the floor by his bed. Once he stills, Sam hears a quiet sound coming from the bathroom that sounds an awful like a sniffle. Upon further listening, Sam realizes that it was definitely a sniffle. Dean is crying. Sam wrinkles his nose, confused. People don't usually cry after they just get off. Well, Sam amends, they could, but not this kind of crying. These are bitter tears. Sam wouldn't have been able to tell the difference if it wasn't Dean, whom he had spent almost every second of his life right beside. He wracks his brain for a few moments before it clicks – he is crying over Sam. The Sam that isn't him. He isn''t sure about the nuances, but it's probably a combination of feeling guilty over jerking off thinking of his brother, (which Sam thinks is stupid – why feel guilty for wanting something, and taking it?) and not having his version of Sammy in the bed next to his. He thinks it's pretty pathetic, but hey, if he had a soul and had some guilty crush on his brother, who was currently soulless, he would probably cry too. He used to be a little baby like that.

Now that he's caught his breath, Sam gets up silently and pads over to the AC unit jutting out of the window, cranking it down to 62. It's too fucking hot. All the time. Everywhere. (Especially after THAT.) Sam has come to the conclusion it's because after tasting the frosty bite of Lucifer's burning touch, even chilly weather would be hot. He supresses a shiver at the memory and climbs back into the bed quickly and covers himself exactly as he was before Dean left, and his brother opens the door not a moment after he stops moving.

Dean climbs back into bed quietly and drifts off to sleep, sniffling until slumber takes him.

This exact scenario happens four times before Sam formulates a plan. He should want Dean to be happy, right? That's what you want for important people in your life, isn't it? So, Sam decides to make that happen. But that doesn't mean he can't get what he wants, too. And now, what he wants is Dean.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean fucks and Sam watches.

The sharp clack of wood against painted acrylic is drowned out by the sound of the Eagles blaring over the speaker system in a dimly lit bar off I-20, where Sam and Dean stopped to hustle some money. Dean is sitting by the bar downing a shot of Jack, and by the look of his progress, Sam thinks he might have to carry his brother back to the car when the night is through. Sam leans against the pool cue, putting on his best “innocent” face as he assesses the sucker he’s playing against; “Wratchet.” The easiest way to make the most out of these fools is to come in limping, so to speak. He pretends to be an easy mark until the big bucks have been laid down, and then he shows them no mercy. Sam can never play at the same bar twice because of his ferocity. Losing his soul has been really great news for their wallets. He shoots his doe eyes at his mark even as he slaps a hundred dollar bill down on the table. The burly man chuckles and shakes his head, throwing two hundreds down. Sam ducks his head to hide the sly smile creeping across his mouth. _Just a little more, and I got you, dumbass,_ he thinks to himself as he aims the cue carefully, making sure that the ball _almost_ goes in the pocket, but bounces off at the last second. He makes a calculated grimace as he glances at his mark, eyes flashing dangerously as he sees the derision in the man’s eyes. Wratchet falters for a moment, but the expression change happens so quickly he thinks he must have imagined it. Sam smiles his honey-dew smile and sighs heavily, tossing another hundred onto the table. The biker chuckles again and takes the bait; he throws five benjamins into the pot.

Dean watches his brother from his position at the bar out of the corner of his eye, nursing his fourth or sixth shot of jack. Just as he brings the glass up to his lips, a sultry voice cuts through his brooding.

“Care for another, big boy?”

Just as he starts closing the deal on “Wratchet,” he hears the soft murmuring rumble of his brother’s voice. Involuntarily, he looks up at the bar where Dean is sitting, and a feral growl bubbles from his lips as he sees the tall, blonde slut fluttering her eyelashes at Dean. Sam’s opponent appears startled, and Sam quickly has to backtrack so as not to spook his mark away. As he sees Dean and his new fuck slip out the door, he meets eyes with his brother. Dean gives him a wink, and Sam, while he would much rather kill the girl and fuck Dean against the wall of the bar, he controls himself and rolls his eyes instead, giving a small thumbs up of assent.

 _This is good,_ Sam thinks as his plan returns to mind. _This is good. I’ve got to learn the things he responds to, or my seduction is not going to go well._ He keeps saying this, reminding himself, even as his grip on the pool cue tightens so much that the wood starts creaking.

It’s a damn good thing their hotel is only a mile or so from here.

Sam collects his earnings from a very confused biker and makes his exit before confusion can turn to anger. He tucks the thousand dollars in his wallet with a predatory smile, and sets off at a jog for the motel.

He arrives at the motel just as Dean and the Slut - Sam sees it as a title in his mind more than a descriptor - slip inside their room and shut the door. Even through the door, Sam can hear Dean’s low, lustful chuckle, and another growl scrapes through his teeth. He’s got his fingers wrapping around the butt of his gun, clicking the safety off before he reminds himself that this is research, and he can’t kill the stupid bitch yet. He slinks forward silently, a surprised smile sliding across his face as he sees that Dean did not draw the curtains closed. _And_ he left the lights on.

Sam creeps even closer, as close as he dares without being seen. His fingers twitch on the butt of his gun again when her mouth closes over his brother’s. Clothes begin falling to the floor, and Sam watches, death in his eyes, a growl on his lips. He watches her lick a trail from his collarbone to the hollow behind his ear, and his dick throbs when he sees Dean’s mouth fall open in an almost-moan. Her teeth close around his earlobe and tug, and Sam can feel the groan Dean lets loose deep in his chest. Dean’s hands are on her bare ass, tracing across her back, tangling in her hair, pulling her toward the bed. She falls atop him with a grin, and Sam actually lets out a snarl. Then her fingers tangle in his hair and yank, forcing his neck to arch beautifully, and Sam cocks his head with interest at the throb his brother’s cock gives, and the moan his mouth gives. Her teeth meet around the flesh now exposed on Dean’s neck, and Sam actually takes a step forward before stopping himself, brushing his hand against his rapidly growing erection as Dean arches into the bite and winds his fingers in her hair, pushing her into it.

 _Big brother’s got a thing for pain, hmm?_ Sam thinks with a wicked grin, palming himself almost absentmindedly. He watches as Dean slips his fingers inside her already soaked cunt, making her arch off the bed, her mouth falling open into a perfect “O” as he pistons them in and out, rubbing her clit with his thumb simultaneously. He brings her to orgasm twice with his fingers before diving down to capture her throbbing clit with his lips, sucking as her hips buck around him. His fingers wrap around her thighs and pull her even closer as he devours her like it’s his last meal, humping absentmindedly against the bed as he does. The Slut comes three more times before she shoves Dean off of her, panting harshly with a lazy grin plastered on her face. She rolls over onto her knees and positions herself on the end of the bed, and Dean gets up and positions himself behind her, rubbing her ass almost reverently before sinking into her slowly. Sam really wants to shoot her now, he’s forcing his hands into fists so he doesn’t grab his gun, burst in there and shoot her. He doubts that will go over well with Dean.

Dean is so strung out and the girl is so sensitive that they don’t last more than a few minutes before they’re both shuddering their releases. Sam groans, now openly stroking himself through his too-tight pants. He wants to be the one to make Dean come; and he’ll do a much better job of it, too. Dean collapses on top of the girl and they trade lazy kisses while catching their breath before the girl gets up slowly, slipping back into her clothes, trading words and grins with the fucked-out Winchester on the bed. Sam slips back into the shadows as the Slut slips out of the room and shuts the door quietly. She sets off at a purposeful stride back toward the direction of the bar, and Sam falls into step behind her, silent as a shadow.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam fucks and slaughters, and Dean sleeps.

The Slut rounds the corner of the motel, the bar now coming into sight, and that’s when Sam makes his move.  He shoves her against the wall, grabbing her face harshly to muffle any possible scream.  

“That was my brother you just fucked, slut,” Sam growls as he grinds his hips into hers, and her already quiet moan is muffled through his fingers as she feels his steel-hard erection pressing into her ass.  She locks eyes with Sam over her shoulder, the lust still burning, and Sam gives a chuckle, his hand sliding from the bitch’s mouth to her throat.  “Still not satisfied?” He spat, letting go of her arm to yank down his zipper and let his erection pop free with a groan. “Good.  Because I’m going to fuck you, too.”

He yanks her skirt up over her ass, tears off her soaked panties, and completely sheathes himself inside her with one thrust.  She groans gutturally, the sound turned into a breathless moan because of Sam’s hand on her throat, and dips her back a bit to change the angle Sam was hitting inside.  Sam’s entire body throbs with arousal; he can feel Dean’s come still inside her.  He groans and tightens his grip on her throat until she’s gasping for breath, and he fucks her mercilessly, slamming into her again and again, picturing Dean in this exact position not even two minutes before, and feeling his balls tighten.  

“He’s mine,” Sam snarls as his nails begin digging into the Slut’s throat.  “You’re just a means to an end, bitch,” he growls between pants and thrusts. “He’s got good taste, you’re a good _fuck_.”  At the word “fuck” he begins an even more brutal pace, his orgasm drawing closer.  The girl begins clenching around him, and he can feel her scream of orgasm building up beneath his fingertips. Her pussy begins milking his cock and he cries out Dean’s name, slamming into her rhythmically with each wave of his orgasm, pumping his seed in to join Dean’s. “Dean,” he moans with each thrust, and after five… six… seven thrusts, he slips out of her slowly, letting go of her throat to shove his come-covered dick back into his pants and hastily zip them back up.  The Slut is still braced against the wall, catching her breath with a dazed expression, too fucked out to notice the deadly gleam that has returned to Sam’s eyes. Too blissed to hear the click of the buckle, or the sliding sound of his knife leaving his sheath.  She slowly blinks back to reality as Sam shoves her panties into her mouth, but by the time she begins to react, he’s already knocked her out.  She slumps, and Sam leans down and throws her over his shoulder, looking around sharply for witnesses before setting at a very brisk pace for the pool shed behind the motel.

The Slut jerks awake with a start, eyes blinking to adjust to the dimly lit room she finds herself in.  Sam sits in the corner, just barely in her line of sight, a feral but relaxed grin on his face as he sharpens the demon knife slowly.  He notices the precise moment the girl realizes the gravity of her situation, because her fingers dig into the chair that she’s tied to, and her face drains completely of color.  The deer-in-headlights fear that begins to seep into her eyes makes something lurch in the hole where he supposes soul used to be.  It’s something that he recognizes from his memories of _before_ \- anticipation.  Not the “fuck dad’s going to catch me doing something I shouldn’t” anticipation, but like… the build-up of the days leading up to Christmas.  Something fabulous is just waiting around the corner, and he can feel it.  He starts humming “My Favorite Things” under his breath, but in a just enough different key to be haunting and creepy.  Apparently creepy enough to give the Slut chills; he can see the minute blonde hairs on her arms raise, and she shivers.  He stands up and closes the three feet between them, leaning down until their faces are level.  Her terrified eyes meet his empty ones, and she tries to scream, but the panties are stuffed so far down her throat that all that comes out is a gargled croak, and she chokes.  

“There’s no point in screaming,” Sam whispers calmly, his emotionless voice carrying easily to her ears, and she chokes on a sob.  

“I almost feel bad for having to kill you,” he offers, his grin twisting up a few more notches when tears fall at the word _kill_ , “but you touched my Dean.  No one can touch him and live,” his last words turn into a snarl, and the girl jumps with fright, tears streaming down her face as she realizes that this guy is a total psycho - there’s no way she’s getting out alive.  Sam starts humming “My Favorite Things” again as he shoves two fingers into her cunt, making her let out another muffled scream as she writhes to get away from him. He pulls them out, grinning as his and Dean’s come now cover his fingers.  He wipes them on the edge of the blade of his knife, humming softly to himself as the Slut sobs below him.  Her eyes are begging, but Sam just smiles at her.  “You’re not getting off easy, bitch,” he says tonelessly.  “You left marks on my Dean, and now _we’re_ going to leave marks on you,” he growls as he inspects the knife in the dim lighting of the shed.

With a cold smile, he puts the tip of the knife against the corner of her pretty mouth.  She snaps out of her stupor and struggles against the ropes, jerking her head away.  Sam just makes a ‘tutting’ noise with his tongue, the smile never faltering, his heartbeat never faltering as he grabs a fistful of her hair at the base of her skull to hold her still.  
  
“Struggling is only going to make it hurt worse,” he warns her with some mockery of sympathy in his voice as he takes in her tear-streaked visage.  She tries to choke out a word - “please,” he thinks, but he just shakes his head, puts a knee on the chair between her legs, and cuts into her.  For a moment, she’s in too much shock to register the pain, but when the knife brushes against against the hinge of her jaw - _the knife just slides through her skin… like butter_ , Sam notices - a deep, vocal shredding scream tears from her.  Sam shivers in what he denotes as something akin to delight as the screams reverberate through the knife, up his arm, into the very core of him.  It dances around the hole, filling him with _something_ that Sam doesn’t quite have a name for yet.

Long after the screams die out, long after she stops breathing, Sam just sits there, basking in the glow of whatever feeling this is that he can’t name.  After the body is drenched in cleaning chemicals, after the pool shed is burnt to the ground. That feeling settles into the core of him like a contented cat.  

Sam quietly slips into the motel room, and Dean is long since passed out in a drunken, lust-sated stupor.  Sam quickly sheds his bloody, smoke-stenched clothes and shoves them into his duffel bag before slipping under the covers of yet another shitty twin bed. But it doesn’t bother him this time, and he closes his eyes, replaying each stroke of the knife with a cheshire grin on his face.

In the morning, Dean asks Sam if he slept alright, and gives his little brother a one-sided smile when Sam replies, “like a baby.”  Sam smirks to himself as they load up the Impala. He does feel very refreshed, and it must show on his face, because the past few months, he’s been pretty good at keeping his little “secret” just that. But every now and then he slips up; he can tell, because Dean will give him questioning and doubting looks for several days.  

Sam chuckles to himself, and admires the sliver of skin between his brother’s shirt and the belt line of his jeans as Dean leans over to pick their bags off the ground.  “Never felt better, actually,” Sam adds almost to himself as the two of them climb into the Impala and put the motel behind them.

They talk about the freak electrical accident that made the pool shed burn down in the night as they travel.  The management and police suspect someone put the cleaning chemicals too close to the power socket, which the management had been meaning to fix.  Sam turns his face to the window as a feral grin crawls across his face.  And to distract him from the way Dean’s perfect cock-sucking lips frame his teeth as he talks.  He adjusts himself discreetly; _probably not a good idea to think about your brother on his knees, begging for your cock in his mouth while you’re right next to him, Sam,_ he berates himself, but that only makes him harder.    
  
He’s going to have to speed up his seduction plan. He can’t wait much longer.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam finds a girl who's willing to fulfill his strange request.
> 
> breathplay/voyeurism/orgasm denial
> 
> (also i'm so fucking sorry for abandoning this for 3 years <3 if you're an original follower and still reading this i thank you so much! I'll be updating every week or so for a while)

It’s been too long since his last kill, Sam muses with irritation as he crouches in an abandoned warehouse, the heat of his brother crouched next to him temporarily distracting him from their mission. He can feel the ache in his chest, the edges of the hole itching restlessly.  They’ve been hunting this nest for over a week, and Dean’s been too obsessed to pick up any girls. Sam breaks away from his train of thought as Dean leaps over the cover with a growl and fluidly unsheathes his machete, lopping off the head of the vampire before it even has a chance to react. The kill is messy, with blood squirting everywhere. Dots of blood specks Dean’s face, and Sam thinks that they make a wonderful addition to the trail of freckles already present across his brother’s nose. He wants to kiss each one of them while fucking him mercilessly, making him cry out in pain. And maybe pleasure too. He hasn’t decided.

Green eyes flash in his direction, and the adrenaline rush from the kill has Dean’s pupils blown wide. Sam almost loses his control right then, aching to claim Dean’s mouth in a bruising kiss as blood that isn’t theirs mingles in their mouths. He reigns himself back in, just barely. Good thing, too, because when he notices he’s being watched, Dean narrows his eyes at his brother, shifting uncomfortably at the intense expression on Sam’s face.

“What are you lookin’ at?” The older man mumbles defensively, wiping the blood off his weapon onto his pants. Sam looks away, cursing at his carelessness.  He has to be more careful, or Dean will pull away before he’s even done anything. It’s a lot easier to keep control when he can sate the itch.

“Sorry, man. You’ve got some-” Sam stops mid-explanation to gesture at his own face, miming the places where Dean has blood. Dean relaxes, accepting the explanation easily enough, licking his thumb to scrape at the filth on his face. After Sam gives him the thumbs up, Dean grins, that lopsided grin that always goes straight to Sam’s cock. 

“Dude, look at  _ you _ ! You’ve totally ruined those clothes!” Dean laughs, waving his hand haphazardly in a gesture to Sam’s whole body, which admittedly was covered in blood. Sam has been compensating for his lack of a good kill by being more brutal with his monster kills. He laughs with his brother, feeling anticipation settle over him like a second skin. Tonight they’re both going to get lucky.

 

\--

 

They take turns using the dingy motel shower, rinsing the blood and gore off of their bodies, the caked on dirt flowing down the drain. Sam goes first, of course, so he can watch his brother dress himself. He’s shrugging on a flannel over his undershirt when his brother steps out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. Thankfully it’s too dark in their room for Dean to notice the heat in Sam’s eyes as he takes in every inch of taut muscle, tanned skin with scars that make Sam’s fingers itch; he wants to make his own scars on Dean’s body, to mar that pretty flesh, to mark it so everyone will know who Dean belongs to. He bites his lip hard enough to bleed, grounding himself so he doesn’t assault Dean and ruin everything. He has to tread carefully or he will lose Dean forever. Sam slips past his brother into the bathroom, and maybe he takes advantage of the tight quarters to brush his body against Dean’s. Dean tenses briefly, but allows the moment to go unremarked. Sam washes his face quickly before heading for the door. He calls out behind him that he’s going to hustle some pool. His brother grunts an affirmation, and Sam straightens his shirt before walking toward the bar across the street as the door clicks shut behind him.

Sam is already formulating a plan in his head. He takes a deep breath as he approaches the bar, carefully schooling his expression into a much less dangerous, more approachable one, even going so far as to stoop slightly to appear less intimidating. He carefully tucks his hair behind one ear, and then finally jerks the door open, slipping inside quietly. 

A quick cursory glance around the place showed promising results. There are several attractive women here, though a few already seemingly entangled with other patrons. Sam knows he could probably charm them away from the men if he had to, but he set his sights a little easier for the moment. A tall, busty woman leans against the bar as she sipped on her glass of whiskey. Her dark hair falls over her shoulders, and her warm brown eyes roams over everyone in the bar several times before returning her attention to the drink in her hand. The casual posture radiates a calm confidence, and Sam recognizes the dominance in her as a twin to his own. She’s definitely the one. 

Taking care to keep his expression gentle and his stature non-assuming, he makes his way to the bar and orders a glass of rum and coke, casually sliding into the stool beside hers. Out of his peripheral vision he sees her give him a once-over, and he has to resist mirroring the flirty smile he saw slide into place. Becoming the pursued goes against his nature, and the predator inside him growls, impatient. Hunting comes naturally to him, and being the hunted feels wrong. But this is the best way to accomplish his plans, so he tosses aside the inner conflict, turning to give an innocent smile as she makes the first move and asks the standard line.

“What’s a tall drink of water like you doing in a place like this?” Her voice is soft and gentle, but with a quiet strength that makes Sam even more sure he picked the right one. They pick up small talk. Sam laughs in the right places, blushes in the right places, and pushes back in the right places. He was right; this one loves a challenge. Soon enough she’s closing out her tab and placing a tip in the jar for the bartender, and he follows her out into the night.

They walk out to her car in relative silence, and when she turns to him, Sam allows her to push him against the side of the car and pull him into a searing kiss. He wraps his arms around her waist, but let her direct the flow. She’s a good kisser, he’ll give her that. Her tongue slips past his lips as his fingers slip under the hem of her shirt. She’s arching into him and he can already feel heat pooling in his groin. He growls into her mouth and has to resist taking control. She nips at his lips, and Sam’s already thinking of what comes next, his heart skipping into double-time. 

When they finally break apart, they’re both panting, hard. Sam’s eyes are dark with lust, and he can see the reddened flush of arousal spreading from her cheeks. 

“What do you say we take this back to my place, big boy?” 

This is it, this is his chance. He wants very badly to listen to his body and just go with her and spend the next four hours fucking like crazy, but that doesn’t help The Plan. And if it doesn’t help The Plan, then he’s really not that interested. He focuses on her and flashes her a coy smile.

“Well, actually… I have a request that may seem kinda strange."

“Oh? Something fun, I hope? You seem like the kinky type,” she says with a flirtatious grin. Sam laughs. 

“Yeah, you could say that. Well, my boyfriend and I like to share,” he begins, and cuts her off before she can interject. “Not like a threesome or anything. We like to roleplay, kind of, to spice things up. He’ll get first go, and pretend to have no knowledge of me, and then after he’s done, I get a turn.” Well, she looks intrigued rather than disgusted, so Sam continues his explanation. She deliberates, but eventually assents. Sam could crow with delight. Once he’s sure that she won’t say anything about him to Dean, they both head to the bar and Sam pulls out his phone to give his brother a call.

“Dude, so get this.”

\--

 

It takes some doing, but he finally manages to get Dean to agree to come meet this chick. Sam meets him at the entrance to the bar, points her out, and grins at his brother. Dean gives him a strange look, one that makes Sam’s skin itch with irritation. Sam and the girl share a conspiratorial wink before he makes his leave, making the excuse that he’s meeting the girl’s friend at her place. Dean shrugs, sliding into the empty stool next to the girl’s as Sam steps out to find a good spot to wait. He ducks into the alley behind the bar, palming himself absentmindedly. The friction is sweet against his cock, the denim scraping in a way that made him groan thickly. He’s practically buzzing with anticipation. It won’t take long for the girl to sweet-talk her way back to Dean’s hotel room. 

Hastily, he glances around to make sure the alleyway was empty before shoving his hands into his pants and hastily pulling out his cock.  He lets out a huff of a breath as it swells to hardness, letting his eyes flutter shut and his head fall back with a quiet moan and he begins to slowly pump his dick.  

How would she kiss Dean, he wonders? How would Dean’s tongue mesh with hers? Would he grab her around the waist, like Sam had done? Would she push him onto the bed roughly, undressing him herself? Or would she have him strip for her? His cock throbs at the image of Dean, reluctantly shedding his clothing, baring all that tanned skin for him. Sam chokes on a moan as he imagines Dean sinking to his knees in front of him, green eyes dark with lust. The flush that would tint those freckled cheeks as he presents his mouth for his little brother to use, those sensual lips puffy and swollen from bruised kisses, slick with spit and ready to be wrapped around his cock. Sam’s grip around his dick tightens as he imagines roughly grabbing fistfuls of Dean’s hair and fucking into his mouth mercilessly. He groans thinking of the tears that would well up in Dean’s eyes, and the way his throat would feel constricting around him, as he tries so desperately to control his gag reflex. His hand speeds up thinking of the way Dean’s cock would be red, throbbing, leaking and forgotten between his legs, with all Dean’s focus on being used, on being pleasing to his little brother. 

Sam is teetering on the edge of orgasm at this point, imagining face-fucking his compliant older brother into oblivion, when he’s jolted out of his reverie as the door of the bar opens with a loud bang. Breathing harshly, Sam shoves his oversensitive, aching prick back into his pants with a hiss of pain. Sure enough, it’s Dean’s silhouette followed closely by the girl. They’re heading back to his motel room. The sound of Dean’s laughter, a low, lusty chuckle is something Sam feels in his bones, and it makes his cock ache painfully in its already aroused state. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, and follows the pair, careful to stick to the shadows. 

Soon enough the two are at the door, and just as Sam pictured, the girl crowds Dean into the door and claims his mouth in a kiss. Sam is far enough away that he almost doesn’t catch the appreciative noise his brother makes into the girl’s mouth, but he definitely hears the groan as she snakes her hand into his hair and tugs sharply. That goes straight to Sam’s dick, and apparently Dean’s as well, because he’s fumbling against the door knob, mouth slack as the girl works her hands into the hem of his pants. He gently grabs her hands, letting out another chuckle. The sultry smile Dean gives has Sam rubbing himself again.

“Easy there, tiger,” Dean murmurs, and disentangles himself enough to get the door open. He hears a flirtatious giggle from the girl before the door slides shut with a sharp snick, and then silence. Sam takes this as his chance to move closer. The girl heads toward the curtains, where she pulls them shut with a yank of her wrists, but leaves a large enough gap for them to be seen, as discussed. He quietly slips into the driver’s seat of the Impala, careful to count how many notches back he moves the seat as he gets comfortable. The girl pulls Dean by the lapels of his jacket into another searing kiss, and Sam groans at the way his brother leans into her. Her fingers slide under his jacket, carefully pushing it down his shoulders. Dean catches on and shrugs it off, tossing it into an empty armchair without breaking the kiss. His hands slide up under the bottom of her shirt in the same way Sam’s did, and knowing that Dean’s touching where he touched gives Sam a little electric shock to his dick. His heart is racing now, and he’s unzipping his pants carelessly, gripping his erection through his underwear. 

Dean’s shirt comes off with the help of the girl, and just as Sam thought, the girl shoves him down onto the bed. She straddles him, and a seductive grin settles across Dean’s face as she pulls off her own shirt from her position. His hands find their way to her hips, and they both groan as he grinds them together. 

The way he touches her is almost reverent, and it makes Sam’s cock ache. He wants Dean to worship him like this. He wants Dean to only exist for Sam’s pleasure, he wants Dean to have no other purpose than making his little brother feel good. The feel of his fingers against the swollen, aching skin of his dick almost hurts, but not enough to stop slowly pumping it as he watches the girl slide off of his brother’s lap and strip, then clearly ordering Dean to do the same. Dean complies, eager to please, and obediently complies as she crooks her finger for him to come to her. He climbs his way up the bed, letting her pull him into another hard kiss, and follows her lead as she flips him over. He arches up in pain and hisses as she rakes down harsh lines on his chest, and Sam can almost hear the exquisite sound of pleasure-pain that comes out of those luscious lips as the girl pinches one of Dean’s pert nipples with her sharp fingernails. She kisses and bites and sucks her way down his chest, and by the time she slips her hand under the fabric of Dean’s underwear, Sam can see the erection straining against its confines, throbbing visibly with every point of pain she inflicts. Dean groans, loudly, as her warm hand finally grips his erection, and he helps her kick off his underwear as she slowly, teasingly strokes him.    


Sam matches her pace with his own stroking, his cock begging him to go faster, but he’s so entranced by the way Dean’s pretty mouth stretches over groans and whimpers that he doesn’t even consider speeding up. He’s not even sure Dean is aware that she’s fingering herself, but Sam does and it’s thrilling to him that they’re all seeking pleasure at the exact same pace. His attention is brought back to Dean’s face as his brother says a word, and Sam can easily make out “please,” and that makes his hand stutter over his cock. Dean  _ never _ says please.  The girl just laughs and shakes her head, removing her touch altogether. Dean’s eyes fly open in shock, humping the empty air for a moment before propping on one elbow to watch her climb onto his lap, and Sam licks his lips at how breathless Dean looks while she slides down on his cock, inch by torturous inch until she finally bottoms out. Dean tries to thrust up into her, and Sam laughs at how frustrated he looks when she forces him still. One last smidgen of defiance has Dean slamming into her, causing her to cry out before pushing firmly on his hips with both hands. She appears to be verbally admonishing Dean, to which he replies with a smug grin. In an instant the grin is wiped off his face as she slaps him.  _ Hard _ . 

Sam groans thickly as he watches the last of defiance instantly fade, Dean’s mouth slack in arousal. The older man licks his lips several times, almost absent-mindedly, as his dark gaze settles on the woman atop him. Her hips slowly begin to move, but Dean stays as still as he’s able to. Though even Sam can’t begrudge him the involuntary buck of his hips when the girl slips her hand around his throat and squeezes. Sam groans out Dean’s name, stroking his cock breathlessly as he watches this woman reduce his brother to a helpless, obedient bundle of nerves. She keeps her grip around his throat steady as she rides him, and only when she leans down and whispers something in his ear does Dean begin to thrust up into her. Sam matches the pace, his other hand white-knuckling the steering wheel. He can feel each gasp Dean makes as if it were his own. He can hear each sound that falls from his brother’s lips as if Dean were in the car here with him instead of separated by walls and steel. He watches, caught in the spiral of pleasure and control as she comes on his brother’s cock, never relenting in her grip. He watches as she fucks his brother into a helpless, pleading heap before she murmurs, “Come for me,” and groans as he sees his brother cry out, sees Dean’s balls tighten as he begins slamming into her helplessly, finally allowed to chase his own release. As soon as he sees the come oozing out from between her lips and Dean’s cock, Sam cries out roughly, feeling his own balls tighten. Dean’s eyes meet his for the briefest moment as his older brother looks around aimlessly and that’s the end of him. Sam’s coming on his hand, and he’s coming hard. Sam’s vision blurs at the edges, and he forgets to breathe for several long moments. When he comes back to himself, he’s shaking, and he’s drawing in harsh, panting breaths. Sam lets out an elated laugh. He feels high. He watches in a haze as Dean wobbles to the bathroom, and the woman starts putting her clothes back on. 

Sam reaches around in the backseat for something, anything to wipe himself off with, and his hand closes over something he thinks is an old shirt. He hastily cleans himself as Dean comes back out of the bathroom, having washed his face and his cock. He leans over and gives the woman a fond kiss on the cheek, thanking her with a lazy grin. She laughs, and does the same before she finishes gathering up her belongings. Sam slides down in his seat as Dean walks her to the door, and she gives him her number with a wink before planting a goodnight kiss on his cheek. His heart is pounding as Dean casts a glance around the parking lot, but his gaze slides right past Sam without pausing. He lets out a relieved sigh when the door finally shuts, and only once Dean pulls the curtains closed and turns off the lights in the room does Sam step out of the car.

She spots him and grins widely. 

“That was  _ so _ hot, knowing you were watching!” She whispers, sliding up to him. Sam can smell sex on her. He can smell Dean. Just that is enough to get his cock twitching again, and it won’t be long until he’s at full mast. 

“Baby, the party’s just getting started,” Sam murmurs in reply, a wicked grin sliding into place as he carefully opens the backdoor of the Impala for her to slide in. She giggles and does so, and Sam follows suit immediately after, the door shutting with a quiet clank. Poor girl has no idea what she’s gotten herself into, Sam thinks with a satisfied, predatorial smirk as they begin undressing. At least it’s going to be one hell of a ride before she bites it. Sam can’t help but laugh at how well everything has gone according to plan. He’s going to fuck this girl to within an inch of her life, and then he’s going to kill her. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam fucks Dean's sloppy seconds, and Dean saves his bacon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters are getting longer now. I'm trying to ramp up the sexual tension between Sam and Dean without it being Too Much. Criticism/suggestions welcome! I'm hoping to adhere to a weekly update schedule. Thanks for tuning in <3

Clothes are gradually discarded, scattered about the interior of the Impala as lips lock and limbs tangle. Sam gets a handhold in her hair and yanks, her neck arching sharply, exposing that vulnerable skin. If they weren’t in the Impala, Sam might sate his craving for violence by ripping her throat out with his teeth. Instead he settles for light but impassioned bites along her jugular toward her chin, moving with her as he pulls her up and presses her against the glass. She’s moaning and trembling beneath him, and he hasn’t even touched her yet.

“Let me taste you,” he rumbles quietly but passionately, gesturing for her to turn around. She grins and obliges, pert ass in the air as she spreads her legs on the seat as wide as she’s able without slipping. Sam can see Dean’s come leaking out of her, and he groans deeply at that, putting a large hand on the small of her back as she rests her arms against the window. The smell of Dean is thick in the air now, and it’s making Sam’s cock throb painfully with red-hot desire.

He somehow manages to wedge his lanky frame between the seat and the floor so he can dive in face-first between her legs, and he enthusiastically does so. She lets out a gasping moan above him, but he’s too absorbed in lapping out his brother’s come from her leaking hole to even register it. He presses a thumb lightly against her asshole as his tongue delves into her folds, groaning against her pussy as the taste of Dean finally settles on his tongue. It’s salty, and potent, and smoky in a way that makes Sam tremble with want.  He wants so desperately to wring every last drop of come out of a strung-out, pleading, oversensitive Dean, begging his little brother for release. He wants to wreck him so utterly that the only name Dean can speak is Sam’s. He wants Dean to chant that word like a prayer, like it’s his only chance for salvation, like it’s the only word he _knows_.

Sam is eating this girl’s pussy with such enthusiasm that her legs are shaking, and he has to slip an arm around her waist to keep her upright while he continues his ministrations. She’s gasping and arching into his face, and he’s growling animalistically into her as he pushes right back. He locks his lips around her clit and _sucks_ , and that’s the end of her. He can feel her breath stop altogether as she comes, thighs shaking desperately around his face. Sam chooses this moment to slip two fingers inside her wet cunt and crooks them _just so_ , pistoning them to add to her orgasm until she’s writhing under his assault, breathy halting gasps the only noise she’s capable of making. He continues like this for a solid minute, grinning viciously as he milks orgasm after orgasm from her.

When she’s a sweaty, writhing mess on the seat beneath him, he slides his fingers out of her and licks them clean, groaning again at the lingering taste of his brother on his tongue. Sam unbuttons his pants almost angrily, yanking them down around his knees and fisting his cock in his hand. He grins at her as she finally manages to look up at him, and he’s not sure what she sees in his face, but it makes her shiver.

“You ready?” He growls, hardly waiting for the broken noise of assent before pressing the head of his cock against her sopping pussy, grinding against it for a few heartbeats before roughly impaling her. She cries out sharply, but the way she’s scrabbling at the seat tells him that it’s in pleasure and not pain. He’s almost disappointed at that, but the feel of Dean’s come wrapped around his dick is too satisfying for him to really care. He pulls out slowly, a wrecked, desperate noise escaping his lips at the sight of Dean’s come clinging to his dick. He pauses to appreciate that for a few moments, thumb pressing absentmindedly against the girl’s asshole as his cock throbs before slamming back in to the hilt.

The knowledge that just minutes ago Dean was balls-deep inside the same pussy that Sam is now fucking senseless makes him so achingly hard, and he feels the girl shudder beneath him as she feels him throb. He continues his slow pace, though manages to coax yet another orgasm out of her with a shove of his thumb into her asshole. She’s so wet and so fucked-out that it went right in with no resistance, and she’s biting her hand to hold back a sob of a moan.  He doesn’t think she’ll be conscious much longer, so he gives up the slow pace and goes full-throttle. He uses his free hand to pull her hips into his, meeting with each thrust. Thick moans are traded between them, and he can feel his orgasm approaching quickly, as well as the bruises on his (and probably her) hips from the way their skin slaps viciously together. Then suddenly her footing slips and changes the angle and that’s the end of it. Sam’s spilling into her with a shout, continuing to pound her until he’s shaking and his dick is too sensitive to continue. He pulls out, groaning softly at the lack of warmth, and she hisses in discomfort as he dislodges his thumb from her ass.

She seems to be immobile, ass up in the air with semen leaking out of her, face planted in the leather of the seat. Sam rolls his eyes in irritation and hikes her panties back up around her ass where they belong. Dean would kill him if he stained the leather of the Impala.  Well, he’d try.

Sam takes a few moments to just bask in the post-orgasmic high, sinking into the seat while the girl slowly gets her bearings and rights herself. Being close to Dean in this weird fucked up way sates the itch almost as much as murder. He grins lazily, having to resist the urge to stretch out like a contented cat. Murdering her is going to be so satisfying after a fuck like that. Sam’s not even sure he can muster up the energy to off her after all of that, and he watches her out of the corner of his eye as he deliberates. Minutes stretch out into comfortable silence as they both catch their breath, and Sam eventually decides to wait until tomorrow to do it.

When she’s able to move, she gives Sam a profuse thank you and a peck on the cheek that he tolerates with an only slightly forced grin, watching her appreciatively as she wriggles back into her clothes and finally steps out of the car. She hands him a piece of paper with her phone number before quietly shutting the door of the Impala and heading back to the bar, presumably toward her own car.

Sam stretches out, closing his eyes for a brief rest -not a nap, since he doesn’t sleep anymore - before he heads into the motel room to clean up. His fingers are already drumming out a rhythm on his thigh; he can’t wait to have Dean right where he wants him.

\--

By the time Dean wakes up, Sam is fully showered, dressed, and packed with his laptop pulled up for the next case a few towns over.

Dean sits up with a groggy moan that sends a pang straight to Sam’s dick, and he has to school his expression as he shoves a cup of coffee in his brother’s hand.

“I still think it’s fucking weird that you don’t sleep,” Dean offers grumpily, giving Sam a tired, wary glare before sipping on the hot beverage.

“Yeah, well. It’s not like I can help it, Dean,” Sam offers, trying his best to sound hurt. It seems to work; Dean winces, offers a tentative apologetic smile and gestures to the computer.

“What do we got?”

“So get this,” Sam starts, noticing the way Dean’s eyes soften when he says his familiar starting line. “In the past week, 4 people go missing in the middle of the day, only to be found thirty miles outside of town, hacked to bits.”

“So, some Freddy Kreuger’s slicing folks up, doesn’t make it our kinda thing.”

Sam rolls his eyes and pulls up the next tab.

“Look at where each body was found.”  He traces his finger from point to point, grinning when he sees the moment of recognition in his brother’s too-green eyes.

“I’ll be damned. It’s a fucking pentagram,” Dean exclaims, much more alert now. “Or it’s about to be. What do you think, summoning? Spell?”

“My money’s on spell. A big one, from the looks of it.  I’m about to call Bobby. You finish packing so we can hit the road. It’s only twenty minutes from here.” Sam grins to himself; he made sure to find a case that was closeby so he could come back and kill that girl later.

“Alright, whatever, RoboCop,” Dean grumbles, flipping the comforter off his lap in a huff. The small gust of air is enough to waft the smell of sex that clung to Dean’s skin straight to Sam’s nose, and he sways on the spot as he struggled not to react on impulse and back his brother right back down onto that mattress and fuck him. The predator in hin snarls with the need to claim, to mark.  His gaze zeroes in on Dean’s crotch as he walks toward the bathroom, the cling of his boxers taunting Sam with every step. Dean turns around to say something, and Sam’s gaze reluctantly tears up to his face, but the familiar grin is already faltering at the intensity of Sam’s expression. He tries to relax his face, and a moment later Dean’s smirk is back in place.

“See something you like, Sammy?” He quips, throwing in a saucy wink that is supposed to be over-the-top, but it makes Sam want to growl deep in his chest, and he has to suppress it, rolling his eyes instead.

“You wish, jerk,” he sneers without venom and turns away to close his laptop and go check out of their room.

“Whatever, bitch,” Dean retorts out of habit, and falters as he realizes what he’s said, but he just sighs and shrugs it off before closing the bathroom door. A minute later, Sam hears the shower sputter to life, and he slumps onto the bed that he didn’t bother sleeping in last night.

He can feel the sexual tension piling on every interaction with Dean, and if he hasn’t caught on yet, he will soon. The risky fucking helps a bit, but the only thing that really soothes Sam is the killing. It relaxes him, allows him to be patient in a way nothing else does. He _needs_ to be patient, or all his hard work will be for nothing.

\--

If Dean can smell the stench of sex and sweat from Sam’s exploits the night before, he doesn’t say anything, and in his defense, Sam deep-cleaned the shit out of that car before working on their next case.  He’s only mildly irritated at the shitty rock station Dean is bobbing his head along to, and instead focuses on the landscape passing by them. It’s a short car ride, so the silence between them is comfortable and not awkward. As they pull up to their new motel, Dean finally breaks the silence and turns in his seat to Sam.

“You really can’t sleep? At all?” Dean’s curiosity always gets the better of him eventually, so Sam can’t even really be surprised at this point.

“Really. Not a wink. I haven’t slept in over a year.”

“Don’t humans need sleep to survive, or something? You never get tired? Have you tried?” Dean keeps pressing. Sam supposes he should be glad that Dean feels comfortable enough to grill him like this, but he’s mostly just irritated. Not a lot, but just enough for it to creep into his voice.

“Of course I tried, Dean. I would lay down every night, close my eyes, count sheep, play those stupid brainwave music cds, I tried everything.”

“And?”

“And nothing. I got bored. I don’t know why I can’t sleep, but for some reason I don’t need it. It doesn’t matter to me anyway, it means more time to get things done.” Sam thinks he does an okay job of keeping the irritation out of his voice, and Dean flashes him a look that he can’t quite decipher, but it’s not wary or on edge like it usually is. The moment of weirdness passes as Dean shrugs.

“If you say so, man. I still say it’s weird.”

Sam rolls his eyes, but Dean seems willing to let it go, instead stepping out of the car and pulling their bags out of the backseat. Sam follows suit, briefly lamenting the missed opportunity of watching his brother bent over the seat of the car. “You go get us checked in while I unload the car, okay?” Without waiting for an answer, Dean turns away, heading up to the room in the corner, making sure it’s empty before jimmying his way in. Sam sighs and for once does as he’s told without comment.

Dean’s cleaning his gun when Sam returns with the keys. He looks up at Sam as he enters, and Sam can see a softness in the man’s eyes that makes him uncomfortable. The look is quickly replaced with the usual guarded mask, and Sam sighs, placing his laptop on the table across from Dean. He pulls up the info about the job, giving Dean a brief run-down of what they’d already found out  and writes the addresses of the families of each vic on a piece of paper.

“Let’s hit the morgue first, and then follow up with the families, see if we can’t suss up any common threads. Whatever spell these assholes are casting, they look like they’re almost done, so the sooner we end this, the less people end up dead.”

Dean shrugs into his coat, and Sam just nods as he slaps the laptop closed and follows suit. Sam doesn’t really care about the victims or the body count, but having a reason to kill shit that he doesn’t have to hide? He’s ready.  A razor slash of a grin slides into place as he follows his brother out of the motel, and he barely manages to get a lid on his excitement enough to turn it into a small smile by the time he slides into the car next to Dean.

They peel out of the parking lot with a bit more speed than is strictly necessary, and Sam hides a smile at the tension keeping his brother’s frame taut in the driver’s seat. He knows his brother is feeling the anticipation just as much as he is.  Dean wouldn’t admit it, but he loves killing things almost as much as Sam does.

Almost.

\--

“ _Dean!_ ”

Sam shouts in alarm, voice cracking on the word as the witch raises her hand and sends Dean flying into a wall with a sickening thud.       

“You shouldn’t be worrying about your friend,” a silky voice from behind Sam murmurs, and he whips around to face a second witch. Before he has time to react, his gun is flying out of his hand and his throat is constricting as an invisible force lifts him off the ground. He scrabbles at hands around his throat that aren’t there, and he chokes on his breath as he hears the simpering laughter of the two witches. Just as his vision begins to dim, Sam suddenly slumps to the floor, choking and gasping for air. Massaging his throat, he scrambles backward in an attempt to get out of the immediate vicinity of the danger when he sees _why_ he suddenly fell to the floor.

A sharp, scarlet-tinged silver point is poking out from the witch’s heart. Still gasping, Sam’s gaze flicks up to Dean’s face, pressed intimately in the crook of the now-dying witch’s neck.  His eyes are dark with fury and a recognizable _hunger_ that makes Sam moan quietly from his place on the floor.

“That’s my _brother_ , you evil bitch,” Dean growls out, and the possessive tone laced in his words makes Sam’s head spin with want. A wet gasp comes from the woman as Dean twists the knife sharply, and blood trickles from her lips, splattering hotly on the floor. The light in her eyes dims before Dean even pulls the knife out, and her body falls to the floor with a thud next to her dead comrade as Dean finally looks over to Sam.  He doesn’t even bother cleaning the knife, instead letting it clatter to the floor as he kneels down beside Sam.

Sam can smell the blood on his brother, and the scent of blood, sweat and adrenaline and _Dean_ has his cock filling out in his pants, and he groans again. Luckily, Dean doesn’t notice the heat in his eyes and mistakes the noise for pain. His eyebrows furrow in concern, and he reaches out to cup a protective hand at the base of Sam’s neck.

“Sammy, are you okay? Did she hurt you?”  Dean’s gaze rakes over Sam’s body, and Sam could swear he sees him pause at the unmistakeable outline of his still-hardening dick before returning to his face.  There is no way Dean doesn't recognize a hard-on when he sees it. The concern is still evident in his eyes, but there’s a trace of something else too, and Sam’s pretty sure he knows what it is. With a show of herculean restraint, he lets the moment pass.

“Yeah, Dean, I’m okay,” he says in what he had hoped would be an assuring tone, but his voice comes out wrecked. It’s gravelly and hoarse, and Sam can see the minute change in demeanor as Dean’s mouth parts involuntarily. Sam follows the darting movement of tongue across pink lips flecked with blood, and he barely manages to hide another groan in a cough. “Thanks for the rescue. Help me up, would you?”

Dean seems to snap out of his trance and stands, clasping Sam’s forearm and hauling him up. As soon as Sam’s upright, Dean tries to nonchalantly put a proper amount of distance between them.

“When’s the last time I had to pull your ass out of the fire, eh, Princess?” Dean quips with a grin that Sam can tell comes off as a little forced, but he makes no comment on it.  Sam laughs along instead, giving Dean a gentle shove.

“Shut up, you ass.”

“Oh, no, there’s no way I’m letting this one go, not after all the grief your boyfriend at the Campbell compound gave me.”  Dean’s smug smirk would irritate him normally, but Sam is still trying to control his impulse to pull his brother in for a brutal kiss. The adrenaline is still pumping, and while it makes Dean prone to witty one-liners, it makes Sam’s groin ache with need.

They banter like that all the way back to the hotel, and Sam makes mental note of how relaxed Dean’s posture is. He’s almost always on full-alert around Sam now, and he’s fascinated by the difference. Of course, he realizes it’s because the normalcy of the moment they’re sharing has Dean forgetting that Sam isn’t his precious Sammy. A few days ago this would have pissed Sam off, but now he just smiles.

By the time he’s through with Dean, his big brother won’t care that _Sammy’s_ still in Hell. He’ll be begging for _this_ Sam. The simpering fool of a boy he used to be won’t be able to compare. Not anymore. Not even for Dean.   


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean sleeps, and Sam kills.

Sam waits until Dean is slumped in the chair, napping off his most recent bender. Once he’s sure Dean’s out cold, Sam pulls out a disposable cell phone from his jacket pocket and calls the number that girl gave him. It rings three times before she answers.

_“Hello?”_

“Um, hey. It’s Sam from last night.”  Sam speaks softly and adopts a self-conscious tone as he plays his part, knowing full-well that she would remember every second.  He hears her sharp intake of breath as she recognizes who she’s talking to.

 _“Well, hello there, Sam,”_ the girl purrs, and Sam almost laughs at how easy this is going to be.  “ _And here I was thinking you’d already forgotten about me._ ”

“Forget about you? After all the fun we had last night? Impossible,” Sam replies with a laugh and what he hopes sounds like sincere flattery. The only reason he hadn’t forgotten about her is because he can still feel the way Dean’s come clung to his dick as he fucked her. They flirt back and forth for another few minutes before he suggests that she meet him at the bar. She readily agrees, and Sam’s snagging the keys out of Dean’s jacket and climbing into the Impala without another thought.

Sam knows he’s speeding, but he really doesn’t care. The heady taste of murder is settling under his tongue, and he can’t wait to feel her screams vibrating in his bones.

\--

In an unreasonably short amount of time, Sam is back in the parking lot of the bar.  He grins, a sharp, dangerous slash of a smile as he unfolds himself from the impala and slips into the alley behind the bar. Long fingers drum a beat against his thigh as he contents himself to wait.

The time ticks away slowly, so slowly, and Sam is growing impatient. How long does it take a stupid cow to realize she’s been stood up? With an irritated grimace, Sam pulls out his phone to play tetris or solitaire or _anything_ to help the time pass. He needs to be careful so he doesn’t leave a trail, but that’s easier said than done when his body is screaming at him to just go in there and slice her throat in the bathroom. He takes a moment to indulge in that fantasy, a slow smile creeping onto his face as he watches in his mind’s eye as the blood trickles from the new orifice he’s artfully carved into her flesh. He licks his lips in absent want as he imagines the way her screams transfer through the knife like a conducting rod, filling him to the brim with that feeling that he still can’t put a name to. He can feel his cock thickening in his pants already, and he indulges in the urge to palm himself through the denim.

He’s jolted sharply out of his reverie by his phone buzzing in his hand. It’s the girl. He lets it ring and ring and ring, finally going to voicemail. A second call, ignored, and he hears the door of the bar open with a slam. That familiar predatory grin settles into place as things are finally starting to move forward.

 _The game is afoot_ , Sam thinks to himself with no small amount of snark, and he snorts in amusement as he waits for the girl to round the corner. He presses himself flat against the wall and tilts his head, listening carefully for her footsteps. She’s pacing in agitation, and Sam can hear the tone of the numbers she presses again to call Sam. But she doesn’t press the call button. She’s hesitating, and Sam cocks his head in confusion. Then he supposes it’s so she doesn’t seem desperate, but it’s a little too late for that. She curses.

“Fucking asshole. If you’re going to be a no-show at least have the balls to tell me.” The girl grumbles, finally giving up, shoving her phone in her pocket and heading back to her car. “Ghosting is so last decade,” she continues to complain, her own voice drowning out the quiet scuffle of Sam’s feet as she rounds the corner and he comes up behind her. Before she knows what’s happening, Sam’s hitting her in the back of the head with the butt of his knife and she crumples. He deftly wraps a hand around her waist and pulls her back into the alley, hefting her over his shoulder before finding a place private and dark enough for this.

\--

The girl finally comes to with a muffled groan, and Sam’s breath leaves him in a whoosh as he watches the very moment she realizes she’s up shit creek without a paddle. Her eyes dilate with fear, and it’s so palpable he can almost _smell_ it. Sweat beads on her forehead and she tries to cry out, but Sam shoved a handkerchief into her mouth when he tied her up, so all that comes out is a garbled whimper.

“Oh, it’s okay,” Sam says as he finally turns to her, voice full of mock sympathy. “You wanted to play tonight, and we’re going to.” His grin slides into place again, and Sam is practically vibrating with excitement. He’s been waiting for this. Aching for it. He needs it.  The look of horror on the girl’s face just makes him hard, and he can’t wait to hear her scream.

He licks his lips as he advances on her, knife in hand, and she tries to get away, but only manages to knock over her chair with her tied to it. A small smile of triumph flashes across Sam’s face; he’s very glad he managed to even _find_ a chair in the dark alley.  Sam tuts as he hears her skull crack against the pavement, wedging his ankle around the foot of the chair and deftly uprights it with a yank. With feigned sympathy he tucks her stray hair behind her ear.

“There’s no getting away now,” he tells her, a grin that can only be described as evil distorting his face, and she shivers in fear. “I do have to admit,” Sam murmurs, leaning in as though he’s imparting a very important secret, “you were _amazing_ yesterday with my brother.” The girl jolts at that bit of information, confusion battling with the fear. “Oh, yes,” Sam confirms with another smile, crouching down beside her. “Dean’s my brother, not my lover. Though I recruited you to help change that. He wants me, I know he does. But I just have to convince him.” With a sigh, Sam pushes off his thighs and stands, rolling up his sleeves before leaning over her once more.

Tears roll down her cheeks as the steel of the knife flashes in her peripheral. Sam lets out a low chuckle dripping with lust before crouching down to lick the line of tears from her chin to her eye. When she tries to pull away with a muffled yelp, Sam rocks back on his heels with a laugh.  

“You reek of fear,” Sam murmurs, palming himself absentmindedly as he gently threads the knife between the shoulder of her blouse and her skin, laughing again when she jumps as he severs the fabric with a flick of his wrist. “I’m not even _doing_ anything yet and you’re just about ready to-”

She interrupts him with a muffled sob, and he watches as her pants darken and urine trickles down her legs.  Sam is equal parts disgusted and delighted.

“Aaaand there you go,” he finishes with a cackle. This was _so_ easy. Just a few menacing looks and the brandishing of his knife and the girl’s already out of her mind with terror.  “Hush now or you’ll ruin your makeup,” he says with a snarl as he presses the knife against her flesh. He feels the chills on her arm as he runs the flat of the blade against her neck, and the shiver of terror that runs through her whole body as he moves his hand and presses the point of the knife right against the fat artery in her neck, letting out a shaky exhale at the way he could feel her rapid pulse hammering through the knife.

“I stick you here, and you bleed out in four minutes.” He laughs at her whimper. “Of course you’d lose consciousness in about thirty seconds, so you wouldn’t even know it. Probably a peaceful way to go, all things considered,” he muses, appearing lost in thought for a moment. He looks back up at her and his face contorts into a cruel thing of a smile, and more tears leak out from the girl’s eyes.  The tears are flowing freely now, and Sam puts the knife between his teeth as he rolls up his sleeves. Time to get to work.

Sam doesn’t think he’ll ever get over how easily the knife slices through skin, just like butter, and the way the blood spurts from the body in some places, but just trickles in others. It’s fascinating, and the sickly sheen of blood against her skin delights him. The feeling of her muffled screams traveling up the blade of his knife into his arm is exhilarating, and his dick throbs with every buzz of a scream that creeps across his skin. 

She passes out long before Sam’s finished playing with her, and by the time he notices that her pulse has grown sluggish he’s covered in blood.  It’s shiny on his fingertips, and when he looks down at himself to assess the extent of the mess, he’s very glad he put a spare change of clothes in the back of the impala.

By this time, the bar had closed and the throngs of patrons had dispersed, leaving him alone in the darkness to dispose of his mess. He’s very glad for this as he carries her still bleeding body in his arms to her car, where he dumps her unceremoniously on the ground and busts open her window. He yanks the door open and shoves her inside before making sure that she’s sitting just so, crossing her arms in her lap and putting her keys in the ignition. Worming his way into the space between the seat and the steering wheel, he yanks down some of the wires and frays them with his knife, stripping away the rubber coating until he’s sure several of them are touching, unprotected. Sam grins and backs out, stripping out of his clothes and throwing his one of many plaid shirts and denim pants into her backseat.

As fortune would have it, he parked right across from her when he arrived and Sam doesn’t have to walk far to get a fresh change of clothes, quickly pulling them on before grabbing the accelerant and a small pack of explosives. As he sets the car to explode, pouring the accelerant all over her body, the front and back seats, and across the roof of the car, he whistles that jaunting tune of _my favorite things_. Sam’s all smiles as he steps back to admire his handiwork, and he’s grinning from ear to ear as he tosses the lit match into her car. He’s laughing as he scrambles to the safety of the impala as the car catches flame, and when he feels the road shudder beneath his feet as the car explodes a few blocks away, Sam lets out a whoop of exhilaration.   

Sam pulls out onto the highway, heading back toward the motel, and to Dean, with a satisfied grin. His knee bounces excitedly against the car door, and he hums the whole way home.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following s6E8. In which Dean snaps, and Sam plays him like a piano.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving forward with canon here. There's a bit of dialogue changes and additions, and I'm sorry if it feels like a reread of Episode 8 of season 6. I really struggled with this one. Words of encouragement are always welcome, and feel free to follow me/bug me on tumblr! I'm theywere-neverhomeless on there. It's a multi-ship spn blog but the core focus is wincest, so please bug me all you want! Even send some prompts if you're feeling generous. My muse responds most strongly to angst or sex so... haha. Anyway, here's this.

Sam grins at Dean from across his plate of food, which Dean returns with an eyebrow waggle even as he’s talking on the phone with Bobby. They’re both tired of Crowley bossing them around, and Dean seems even more outraged about it than Sam is, which Sam finds ironic, considering what a good little soldier Dean has been most of his life. Dean’s _good_ at taking orders. It’s what he was made for. Sam knows that once Dean submits to him, they’ll both be happier, but he also knows that Dean will resist on principle, and as irritating as that is, Sam’s looking forward to it. It will make conquering him all the sweeter.

Sam’s smiling deviously into his food when he hears a startled noise come from Dean’s direction. He’s reaching for his gun before he even sees Crowley, who has a possessive hand on Dean’s shoulder guiding him back into his seat.

“Good news, boys, I’ve got a job for you,” Crowley purrs, straddling the empty chair and fixing the two with a smug grin.

“Fuck off, Crowley,” Dean growls, taking a venomous bite of his ribs. Sam idly wonders how Dean would react to him sucking the barbeque sauce off Dean’s fingers, but then Crowley’s speaking again in that irritating confident tone that makes him want to put a bullet in his brain.

“Is that any way to talk to your boss?” Crowley feigns hurt, and Sam can see Dean’s fingers twitching, like he’s itching to grab the demon knife and find it a new sheath in the demon’s chest. They both know it won’t work, and when Dean’s fingers relax on the table, Crowley’s smile widens.

“Not my boss, dickbag.” Dean’s frustrated gaze flicks up to meet Sam’s, and he can see the helplessness there. They don’t have a choice.

“We’ve been through this, darling. You’ve both been working for me for some time. Sam here, even longer.”

“We didn’t know,” Sam says through clenched teeth, murderous gaze settling on Crowley.

“Like that makes a difference to you. You'd sell your brother for a dollar right now if you really needed a soda.” Crowley waves his hand dismissively in Sam’s direction. White hot rage flares inside of Sam. A snarl bubbles up from deep in Sam’s chest, and he doesn’t even register the startled expression on Dean’s face before he has Crowley’s hand pinned to the table with the knife.  The noise of distress that comes from the demon is more surprised than pained, but a small twist of it changes the tune. He can see the magic of the knife crackling under Crowley’s skin and a feral grin has his lips curling back from his teeth.

“You shut up about my brother, you little weasel. I don’t know what you think you’re getting from us, but you can go fuck yourself, got it?” He twists the knife again for good measure.

Crowley reaches out and snatches Sam’s hand, and suddenly his whole world is on fire. He cries out as his knees buckle from the pain, and he looks up at Dean, unseeing. His eyes are wide with panic. He’s back in Hell, and Lucifer is watching as he roasts. Michael is tearing into his flesh, and he can feel the blood streaming thickly down his legs. Sam lets out a low, whimpering noise of pain and disbelief, frozen in place.

He hears a snapping of fingers, and just like that, he’s back. Sam’s chest heaves short, panicked breaths, and he whips around, searching for Dean. Of course, Dean’s right where he was, but he’s holding the demon knife, staring at Sam in equal parts fear and concern.

“Dean?”  Sam’s adrenaline is still pumping, thudding loud in his ears and his body takes several long moments to realize that he’s safe, he’s not being hurt anymore. He sags into his chair and looks warily at Crowley, who is wiping at his bloody hand with an expensive-looking, monogramed handkerchief.

“Sit down, Squirrel,” Crowley says quietly, and Dean complies, slowly stowing the knife in his jacket without taking his eyes off Sam.  The unasked question of _are you okay?_ is clear in his eyes, and with another huff of a breath, Sam gives a jerky nod.  “Well, now that you’ve gotten that out of your system, I hope your situation is a bit more clear to you. This is not a negotiation, you arrogant little twerps. I _own_ Sam, do you understand me?” Sam hates himself for flinching at the threat in Crowley’s tone, but his head's still spinning from his momentary trip back downstairs.  Dean looks positively stricken, all the color having fled from his face as he stares between Sam and Crowley.

“Come on, Dean, it’s not that bad!” The demon says with a slap to Dean’s shoulder. “You bag me a live alpha, I’ll give you little Sammy’s soul back, with a cherry on top.”  

“Alpha vamp not good enough for you?” Sam sneers, though there is no real power behind it.

“Yeah, did you lose your favorite toy?” Dean joins in, though Sam thinks it’s mostly for show.

“Best mind where you poke your nose, if you want to keep it. Your merry little hike up the food chain starts here.”

Crowley unceremoniously tosses the rolled up newspaper in Sam’s lap, and by the time both of them look up, he’s gone.

Dean doesn’t even hesitate, just rounds to the other side of the table and crouches down, eyes full of concern as he touches Sam, almost as if to make sure he’s still there.

“Are you okay, Sam? What happened?” The worry in Dean’s voice is irritating, but he just shuts his eyes and lets himself enjoy the grounding touch of his brother’s hands on his arm, on the back of his neck.

“Y-yeah, I’m okay, Dean. It was like, for a second I was back in the Cage with Michael and Lucifer.” Dean looks pained at this, and Sam gives him a shaky smile. “But I’m fine now, really.  I’m gonna kill that little cockmunch as soon as this is over.” Dean lets out a bark of a laugh at that, but Sam can still see the concern hiding behind his eyes.

“Yeah, what was that about, Mr. Bourne?  He’s a high-powered demon, stabbing him in broad daylight with no devil’s traps wasn’t exactly the best move, buddy.”

“I don’t know, Dean. He just really pissed me off with what he said about you,” Sam shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. Now is a perfect opportunity to plant some seeds.  “You’re my brother, Dean. Just because I don’t have a soul doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.  I mean, I guess that’s not the right word since I technically don’t have any emotions? But you matter to me, Dean.” Sam gently closes his hand around Dean’s wrist and looks up at him. He can see the guarded wall slipping, and suddenly Dean looks so very vulnerable. Sam’s eyes drift to the lip that Dean had just been worrying with his teeth, pausing there before slowly dragging them back up to his eyes, which widen almost imperceptibly.  He sees the concern slowly get overtaken by want, knows Dean saw the heat there in his own.  Sam could feel the moment of tension here between them, but he knows now isn’t the time, so he lets it go. “Well, at least more than a soda,” he quips with a light-hearted laugh.  He watches as the guard slides back into place behind Dean’s face, but it doesn’t seem as tight as before.  Dean laughs with him, but it doesn't reach his eyes, and they finish their food before loading up and hauling ass to New York.

Neither of them relaxes until they’re miles and miles away from that restaurant.  The sooner they can get this over with, the sooner they get out from under Crowley’s thumb.

\--

As they get closer to their destination, Sam pulls out his laptop and does some digging.  It only makes sense to start working on this, so they can get it over with quickly. Dean protests, and Sam has to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

“He’s got us by the short and curlies, what else are we supposed to do?”

“It's just – you know, man, I... I'm working for a demon now. Working for _Crowley_. He’s a dickbag! I don't even know who you are. I just... I just need a second to adjust, okay?” Dean snaps, and Sam has to resist the urge to strike him.  He wishes Dean would quit being such a baby about his soul and Hell and whatever else Dean decides to be upset about that day. Instead, Sam takes a deep breath, trying to put on his most sympathetic expression.

“I know, Dean, I know this is a shitty situation. But we have to play the hand we’re dealt sometimes. Listen, I’m still me, you know?  I still have the same memories. I still like the same food, the same music. I still like the same porn.” That makes Dean stop in his tracks, as Sam intended it to. It wasn’t exactly true, though; nowadays Sam leans toward fetish porn with actors who looked more or less like Dean. But he thinks it’s best to leave that out for now.

“Wait, what? Since when do you watch porn? I haven’t caught you masturbating in years.  We live in pretty close proximity, I think I’d know if you did that.”  Dean looks nothing short of incredulous, and Sam bites down on a laugh. He has no earthly idea what Sam gets up to when he’s asleep.

“Well, I just got better at hiding it, dude. Just because you haven’t caught me doesn’t mean I don’t do it.  Sometimes I’ll rub one out when I go out for a run before you get up. Or if we’re working a job and I’ve dropped you off, I’ll do it in the parking lot if I really need to.” He can tell Dean is imagining it now, can see the slight tinge of his cheeks even in the darkness of the car. Sam lets his voice drop just a bit and he continues. “After you drink, you’re dead to the world. Sometimes I’ll jerk off in bed once you’re asleep. You’re such a deep sleeper that sometimes I’ll have someone in bed with me while you’re out. You’ve never woken up. Given me a heart attack a few times, but they’ve always said it was more exciting that way.” Sam laughs, a low, velvety chuckle and he sees Dean squirm in his seat out of his peripheral.

“Whoa, okay, Sammy, too much information,” Dean stammers, putting a hand up to stop Sam from continuing. Sam just shrugs and grins. He can see the subtle way Dean adjusts his hard-on and how he spreads his legs a little. Sam closes his eyes to avoid letting his impulses get the best of him. He wants to put his hand on Dean’s leg and palm that erection until Dean pulls over, begging him to touch, to taste, to take.  Instead he just slides his eyes over to Dean and smiles semi-apologetically.

“Hey, you asked,” he says lightly, laughing in amusement at Dean’s discomfort.

“Okay, well, now I wish I hadn’t. I get it, you still jerk off. Thanks for clearing that up.”

“Any time,” Sam says with a snicker.  Dean reaches over to turn up the radio, and Sam looks out the window with a smirk. A few more weeks of this, and Dean may even make the first move.

\--

After an annoying amount of legwork, a chase through an empty park, and finally catching up to Fido, they’ve got him tied up in their motel room.

“I got to tell you, Lucky, you got us stumped. Why shack up with the family?” Sam grins, leaning forward in his chair and flicking his eyes from Lucky to Dean and back again. “Is it a kinky thing?” Lucky looks mortified and Dean is giving him a strange look that he can’t quite decipher. “I mean, I don’t think posing as a dog is gonna get you laid, unless.. Is she into that? Did she put peanut butter on her ladybits to have you go to town? Do you like to play with your food?”

Lucky spits in his direction, but it falls short. “You’re a sick fuck, you know that?”

“Sam, chill out with the bestiality thing, will you?” Dean looks uncomfortable, but Sam just laughs.

“Roll over, Lucky. Speak!”

“Fuck off and go to hell.”

“Already been,” Sam says casually, slowly standing and rolling up the sleeves on his shirt. “It didn’t agree with me. So look,” he says as he thumbs a knife they’ve put out to intimidate their captor. “How about I take this knife and start carving up some dog until you behave?”

Lucky’s eyes widen with fear, his nostrils flaring. It occurs to Sam that the dog can probably smell the deadly air around him. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if blood and death was a permanent part of his scent at this point.  Lucky isn’t going to back down though, and he steels himself, tensing as he says quietly, “You do what you gotta do.”

Sam snarls quietly, stepping forward with purpose when Dean’s arm suddenly blocks his path. Sam looks to Dean, irritated, but then he remembers they’re supposed to be _scaring_ him, not actually torturing and killing him.

“Hang on, Sam,” Dean says quietly. “Look, you don’t gotta explain to me why you’re with the family. I get it.”

Lucky just sneers, too focused on the predatory stance Sam’s still in to look at Dean.

“No, I do. You eliminated every threat that came near them. In your own whack-a-doodle kind of way, you really care about them.” Dean’s expression is _sympathetic_ , and now Sam is really confused.

“I don’t think landing them in the middle of a murder investigation is a great way to show you care,” Sam says, crossing his arms, brow furrowed. “I’d be pretty pissed if you did that to me, Dean.” Sam registers Dean’s surprised expression before turning back to Lucky.  “I mean, at least clean up your tracks! Your kills are sloppy, and _messy,_ and you never clean up the evidence. If you’re gonna kill someone, don’t leave a trail. Even _idiots_ know that, you moronic dickwad.”

“ _Sam!_ ” Dean barks his name like an order and a reprimand all at once, and Sam rounds on him, taken sharply aback by the wary look in his eyes. “What is _wrong_ with you? This isn’t _How to Get Away with Murder_ , jackass. We’re interrogating him, not teaching him how to be a serial killer. Take a break.”  Dean juts a thumb at the door behind them, guarded face leaving no room for argument.

“Whatever, I’m still right,” Sam hisses as he storms into the bathroom, the door shutting behind him with an angry click. He washes his face, idly listening to Dean fishing for info as he tries to reign in his anger. He doesn’t understand why they can’t just carve it out of them. Well, logically he does- Dean is against unnecessary violence. He’ll break that trait soon enough.

After a steadying breath, he comes back out of the bathroom. Dean looks at him and tilts his head, saying _Are you cool?_

Sam shrugs, cocking his head in answer and sits back down.

“Once we get word, we turn on our families. Turn them all in one night. 30 becomes 150.”

“God, you’re a sleeper cell,” Dean murmurs in shock, running a hand across his face. He and Sam trade a glance. This is way bigger than they thought.

“So you’re waiting for word from who? Who organized you?”

“We have a pack leader.”

“Your Alpha?” Sam leans forward in his seat, now fully invested in the conversation. At Lucky’s expression of confusion, he explains, “the very first skinwalker, the strongest.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Lucky says, eyebrows knitted together. “He’s plenty strong, but no. I’m pretty sure there’s a lot more like him out there. This isn’t just us.”

Dean slaps his hands on his thighs and gets to his feet with a grin. “Great, you can help us stop him.”

“What, are you crazy? No, I can’t. No.” Lucky’s eyes are wide with panic, and he’s shaking his head back and forth in denial.  Sam is bored again, and he stands up, brandishing the knife with a smile.

“Oh, yes you can. And you will,” Sam says, and he watches the shiver of fear snake down Lucky’s spine at the predatory grin plastered across his face.

“H-haven’t we been through this already?” Lucky stammers, eyes wide with fear even as the rest of his face sets in determination. “You do what you gotta do.”

Dean leans over to Sam, and the heat of his brother’s body pressed against his own is distracting. He leans into it before he can stop himself, but then Dean is murmuring into his ear, “Christ, Sammy, will you calm down please? Enough with the knife, seriously.”  Sam’s too busy getting hard to even notice Dean taking the knife from his hands until Dean is putting it back with the other tools and walking over to Lucky, crouching so they’re at eye-level. He’s grateful that Dean can’t see him right now, slightly flushed, lips parted, weight against the dresser behind him. He’s also grateful for the delicious strip of skin teasing him at the dip of Dean’s back where his shirt is riding up. He wants to lick it, to taste the single drop of sweat slowly snaking down Dean’s spine. Sam swallows thickly, completely lost in his own thoughts, oblivious to the conversation taking place. He wants Dean shaking and panting and sweating and keening beneath him, begging him to stop, begging him for more, for _everything_. And what especially fascinates Sam is that he wants to give it to him. He wants to give Dean everything.

Lucky’s glancing over at him with an odd look on his face, and Sam coughs. He had forgotten that the monster could smell things that humans can't, like lust.  He’s about to open his mouth to say something, but a deadly glare from Sam has Lucky snapping his mouth shut with an audible swallow. Dean looks from Lucky to Sam with a question mark written all over his face, and Sam shrugs nonchalantly, trying to smile. He knows it’s forced, but Dean just shakes his head with a shrug.

“Alright,” Dean says loudly with a clap of his hands. Pack up, we’re wheels up in 10.”

Lucky is still looking at him strangely, and Sam sneers. If the dog says anything, it could ruin his whole plan. He picks the knife back up and crouches down by the dog as Dean busies himself packing their bags. Lucky trembles slightly, and Sam smiles.

“You keep your wolfy mouth shut,” Sam says mildly as he cuts through the rope holding Lucky in place. “Or I’ll gut you from neck to balls, you got it?”  Lucky looks like he’s about to say something, and Sam presses the knife into the flesh at his ankles where he’s cutting the rope in warning. The dog tenses and closes his mouth again, giving a jerky nod. “Good boy,” Sam sneers, cutting off the rest of the rope, which drops with a quiet thud around the chair.

“If you’re done marking your territory, Sam, let’s go,” Dean quips and Sam looks up to see the mischievous grin on his brother’s face.

“Oh my god shut up, you ass,” Sam says, but there’s no real bite to it, and Dean just laughs as they all load up into the impala and head out.

\--

They drop Lucky off a bit away, and Dean parks them under a bridge close to the main event. As they get out, Dean heads to the trunk.

“So, how are we supposed to get at something that can smell us from a hundred yards off?” Sam asks, leaning against the Impala as he watches Dean.  One of his favorite things about Dean is how graceful he is, and how deadly. The killer’s poise that settles into Dean during a job sets Sam’s teeth on edge in the best possible way. He’s putting together a sniper rifle and Sam could honestly watch Dean handle weapons all day long. His fingers know every inch of every weapon he handles, and he puts them together tenderly, gripping each piece like a caress that makes Sam _want._

“We don’t,” Dean says simply, and it takes Sam a moment to remember he asked a question in the first place.

“So, the pack leader, we’re taking him out?” Sam pushes off the Impala with a frown.  “Crowley isn’t gonna like that, Dean.”

“He’s just gonna have to deal, unless you have a better idea, Sam,” Dean snaps, slamming the rifle case closed before rounding on his brother. “ One wolf-whistle from this guy and wham. 150 people turned into monsters, that’s what you want?”

Sam’s bristling at Dean’s tone, and he couldn’t care less about the casualties, but he knows Dean does, so he backs down. “Of course not, Dean. I… I’m just asking.” He knows he sounds defensive, but he’s tired of fighting with Dean every time he opens his mouth.

“You know what? That’s it,” Dean snarls, pointing an accusatory finger in Sam’s direction. He does that a lot, and it always pisses Sam off. “You say you’re “just folks,” right? That you like baseball and porn and jacking off and whatever. But the truth is I don’t know _what_ you are, cause you’re sure as hell not Sam.”

“This _again,_ Dean? Come on!”

“No, Sa-" Dean's mouth contorts at the half-uttered name, like it tastes bad on his tongue. Sam clenches his fists at his side, digging crescents into his palms to hold back the rage. "No. I mean, it's your gigantor body and – and maybe your brain, but it's not you. So just... stop pretending. Do us both a favor.” Dean’s ready to march off with the last word, but Sam has had enough. He grabs Dean by the shoulder and shoves him against the Impala.

“I’m so tired of you and your fucking _problem_ with me, Dean,” Sam snarls, bracketing his body against Dean’s. He watches as his brother’s eyes widen and can feel the way he spreads his legs to try to lessen the contact between them.  Sam just uses that to his advantage and presses further into Dean’s space.   “I am _sick_ of you taking this shit out on me, like it’s my fault! I can’t help it that whoever dragged me out of the Cage left a piece behind! I can’t help it that I’m different from what you want me to be, goddammit! None of this is my fucking fault, Dean!”  Dean is silent, regarding him with a searching expression.  “I don’t know what you want from me, Dean,” he growls, pressing the palm of his hand flat against his brother’s chest. “I try to act like the Sammy you remember, and you tell me to stop. I try to please you, and you tell me to quit pretending.”

His hand slips in its purchase against Dean’s shirt, settling on his stomach. He can feel how shallow Dean’s breathing is. He watches as green gets swallowed up by blackness in his brother’s eyes, can feel Dean’s hardness pushing against his hip.  His eyes drag themselves from his brother’s gaze to Dean’s soft mouth, where his lips are parted, panting softly. He flicks back up to Dean’s gaze, pinning them there with the intensity of them. “I’m _sorry,_ okay?” Sam murmurs with much less venom, licking his lips out of reflex, and he has to suppress a growl at the way Dean’s eyes follow the flick of his tongue helplessly.  “I’m _sorry_ that I’m not your Sammy. I’m sorry that I can’t respond to things the way you want or expect me to. I’m sorry that I came back half-baked. I can’t help the way I am, Dean. It’s unfair of you to punish me for not living up to your expectations when I’m doing the best I can.”

Sam is almost sure Dean can feel the hard twitch of his own cock at this point, and he steps back, breath shaky in his lungs. They’re both breathing hard. Dean looks dazed, trying to process his brother’s outburst when Sam picks up the rifle bag that had fallen in their altercation and swings it over his shoulder. He stalks away, anger evident in the rigid arch of his spine as he heads toward their waiting spot without turning back to see if Dean is following.

“Sammy, I-”

“Just save it, Dean.  Let’s get this over with.”

Sam knows he’s being cruel, that Dean is trying to reach out in apology, but he wants him to suffer for now.  He can’t lash out physically like he wants to, so let him stew in his own juices for a while. He knows that being at odds with Sam hurts Dean, and he _wants_ Dean to hurt. Maybe feeling that distance will wise him up, make him more pliable in the future. Less resistant of Sam’s true nature.

He smiles as he hears Dean finally fall into step behind him.  He can feel the guilt radiating off his brother in waves, he doesn’t even have to look. Sam wants to laugh. Dean is just _so_ easy.  How had he forgotten? Dean reeks of guilt on a daily, and just pushing the right buttons will have Dean begging for Sam soon enough.

\--

They finally make it to the roof of the building with a good view of where Lucky’s meeting the pack leader. The boys climbed four stories in silence, and even though Sam’s still irritated with Dean, he can’t help but appreciate his brother’s lean form as he sets up the rifle, muscles taut with hunter’s poise as he watches through the scope.

“Anything?” Sam breaks the silence first. He knows Dean is waiting for him to, and he’s bored of the silence already.

“No, not yet. They’re not due for another ten,” Dean says, eyeing Sam from his peripheral. Dean gently lets go of the rifle, fingers caressing the weapon as he rocks back on his heels, and Sam shudders.  The older man rolls his shoulders, stretching, before turning to regard Sam with those guilty eyes of his. Sam huffs out a sigh and looks away.  Dean makes a quiet, hurt noise that Sam knows he isn’t supposed to hear.

“Sam, can we-”

“No.”

Sam is short, the word firm but not sharp. He watches Dean’s expression wither a bit, and has to resist the urge to smile. By the time they get back to the motel, Dean is going to be all but groveling at his feet. Sam cocks his head, and files that away as something he intends to make Dean actually do when he’s Sam’s.

“Okay.”  Dean acquiesces, because what else can he do? They have a mission at hand, and he’s probably terrified of pushing Sam even further away.

“Later,” Sam offers, the word softer this time. Dean looks up at him, vulnerable and fragile and _hopeful_ and it makes Sam want to fuck him until the careful wall falls away, shattered to pieces. He wants Dean to always look at him like that. Like Sam has everything Dean wants, everything he needs, like Sam’s the only thing in the entire world that matters. “When we’re done here, when we get back to the motel. Just… not now.”

Dean nods, bending back over the rifle. His posture is slightly more relaxed now, like knowing Sam hasn’t shut him out forever lifted a metric ton off his shoulders. He is continuously and consistently marveled at how dependent Dean is on Sam’s approval.

Suddenly, Dean tenses, and Sam’s on full-alert.

“Showtime.”

Sam pulls up his binoculars and watches as a heavy-duty SUV rolls into the parking lot, pulling up alongside Lucky, who’s fidgeting like crazy.

“Fido’s so fucking nervous, he’s probably going to blow our cover,” Sam says with irritation. “Think he’s gonna double-cross us?”

“Nah, no way. He wants that family to live, don’t he?”

Two men exit the vehicle, which, Sam notes absentmindedly, has blackout windows.

“There’s the boss.”

“Take him out,” Sam murmurs, and his heart thrums with adrenaline. He loves watching Dean kill. He would prefer to watch Dean get his hands bloody, but this is the next best thing.

“Can’t. Don’t have a clean shot.”

Sam huffs in irritation, returning his focus to the scene unfolding down below.

“Something’s wrong,” Sam says, leaning forward as he watches Lucky take a few unsteady steps back.

“Fuck.”

Dean’s curse has Sam swiveling, trying to find the source of the outburst. Oh. Fuck.

They have the family.

The bald man yanks the woman out from the back of the SUV, pushing her toward the boss as he reaches back for the kid.  Lucky is shaking.

“Take out the boss, Dean!” Sam growls, and Dean lines up a shot. Sam watches Dean track the man, but the girl is in front of him, and Dean’s finger hesitates on the trigger.

“I can’t, she’s in the way! Damn it!”  Dean rocks back on his heels, throwing his hands up in helpless frustration as they all enter the warehouse, out of the line of fire.

Sam’s already loading up, reaching for his pistol and clicking the safety off and back on, ready to go before Dean’s even begun disassembling the rifle.

“Just leave it,” Sam says impatiently. “If you wanna save those people, we don’t have time for that."

Dean sighs, giving Sam a wary look, before nodding and pulling out his own pistol as they race back down.

\--

The two of them are like a force of nature through that warehouse.  Bodies drop, some animal when they hit the floor, but every body that hits the ground is human. The old Sam would have found that fascinating, but this Sam couldn’t care less. A body is a body.

Sam is the one who drops the giant guy about to shoot Lucky in the heart, but not before Lucky outs himself as a monster to the family that he loves so much. Sam thinks it’s hilarious, honestly, the disgusted, no, _horrified_ look on the lady’s face as she watches this string bean of a man turn into her beloved pet.

Dean and Sam book it out of there, letting the family deal with that mess on their own, and they head back to the motel room in silence.  Sam’s in a markedly good mood, and his fingers drum out a rhythm in time to the music on the radio as they drive. Sam watches out of the corner of his eye as Dean’s lips twitch up in a semblance of a smile before settling back into a frown, that familiar haunted look of guilt washing over his face.  Sam looks out the window and smirks. This is just too easy. It’s _fun_.

They pull up to the motel, the silence thick and palpable and Sam is almost choking on it as he climbs out of the Impala and unlocks the motel room door.  He heads straight to the bathroom to wash the blood from his hands while Dean finishes putting the guns back in the trunk under the false bottom.  Sam walks back into the bedroom as he dries his hands, and his pulse jumps when Dean quietly closes the door behind him.

“Sam.” Dean’s voice is quiet, and a little bit broken, and there’s that guilt again. Sam wants to lick into Dean’s mouth, taste that guilt on his tongue when Dean says his name.

“Dean.” Sam says, crossing his arms before he looks at Dean, unwilling to give him any leeway. He wants his brother to work for it.

Dean takes a few steps forward, running his fingers through his hair.

“Sam,” he starts again, voice pleading. “I thought about what you said the whole time we were in that warehouse.” He sighs, sitting on his bed and fidgeting with the sleeve of his shirt. “You were right, man.” The admission is soft, timid, as though he anticipates Sam will mock him for saying it. When Sam stays silent, he continues. “I’m so fucking confused about all of this, about us,” he says, gesturing to the space between them with a hand. “It’s fucking hard, man. You’re so different from the way you were… before.” Dean trails off, chewing his lip. He takes a steadying breath when Sam still says nothing, and carries on a bit more firmly. “But you were right. I’ve been unfair to you. You’re just doing the best you can, and while sometimes your best is fucking _scary_ , you still don’t deserve me snapping at you whenever you do something that grinds my gears.”

Sam visibly allows himself to soften, kneeling beside Dean and touching a gentle hand to his wrist. Dean flinches, but Sam just unbuttons the sleeve of his brother’s shirt and slowly rolls up the cuff until it’s sitting neatly under Dean’s elbow. Dean lets out a shaky sigh at the way Sam’s fingers graze his arm, and Sam can feel the skitter of his pulse when his hand closes around Dean’s other wrist.  He fold this one up in silence, too, only stepping back when he’s finished.

He sinks down onto the corner of his bed nearest Dean, legs splayed so that his knee is touching his brother’s. He looks at his hands for several long minutes until Dean fidgets, unable to take the silence any longer.

“Say something, Sammy, I’m pouring my friggin’ heart out here.”  Dean bites his lip, looking up and over at Dean through thick lashes, and Sam sucks in a breath at how alluring he is. He looks away and sighs.

“I know, Dean, I just. You’ve done nothing but ride my ass since the moment I got back, and it’s tiring. I know I can’t feel things like I used to, but it still bugs me, you know? I know I can’t take back what I did, and I know I need to regain your trust with that. But it’s not going to happen again, okay? I’m gonna protect you. You’re mine.”

Dean’s eyes widen, his lip sliding slowly from his teeth in shock, and Sam winces. He throws up a hand in defense as he tries to backtrack.

“I meant, you’re my brother. It’s my job to watch your back just like it’s yours to watch mine.  I know I need to make up for what I did, but I need a little bit of give from you, Dean. I understand you’re wary, but you constantly pushing me away is exhausting. It’s a knife fight every time I breathe, and I can’t hold my breath forever, y’know?”  Sam looks at Dean then, doing his best imitation of an open and honest expression. A heartbeat passes, and Dean sags with a sigh.

“You’re right, Sammy. I’m sorry. I’ll try to be less of a dick,” he says, laying a firm hand on Sam’s knee. He can feel Dean’s body heat through the denim, like it’s burning him from the inside, and the breath punches out of him.

“Okay, Dean.” Sam says, voice rough. He smiles weakly, and Dean returns it. He watches as the knot of tension in his brother untangles before his eyes.

He’s pulling Dean’s strings like a fucking puppet-master, and it’s intoxicating. Sam’s hand trembles where it’s brushing against Dean’s on his knee, and he collapses back on the bed with a heady sigh. He’s drunk on Dean, and holding himself back is getting harder and harder.  
  
He needs to end this, and soon. He can’t wait much longer to claim Dean for himself.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam daydreams, flirts, and teases, and Dean is losing his battle of playing it cool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally have some Samifer in this one. All flashbacks. Enjoy.

The road flies underneath the tires of the Impala. Miles and miles of pavement eaten by rubber as the boys drive across the country.  A case was sent their way from a fellow hunter out in Colorado, and from the newspapers, it looks like an entire pack of Wendigos are snacking on campers and homeless people out in the rockies. Wendigos travelling in packs is absolutely unheard of; they usually eat each other. They’re not social creatures, way too territorial. 

 

The brothers stop for the night exactly once on their journey, in bumfuck nowhere, Illinois after Dean nearly drives off the road when caffeine ceases to be sufficient to keep him alert. He staunchly refuses to let Sam take over, despite his many protests that he doesn’t even need to sleep. When Sam has to punch his brother awake to avoid driving into a semi coming at them, he puts his foot down. The other man grudgingly agrees, and they pull into the nearest motel. 

After four hours of sleep and a very sloppy kill outside the only diner in the town, they peel out of the motel at an ungodly hour. The diner is burning to the ground as they put the town behind them, and Sam grins wickedly at the small cloud of smoke rising up behind them.  It wasn’t as fulfilling as the past several kills had been; the girl hadn’t even laid eyes on Dean. Sam didn’t bother sating his lust with her, just focused all of his sadistic passion into carving her up. Remembering the way the knife sliced through her skin makes Sam shudder, and Dean flashes Sam a concerned look before wordlessly turning on the heating. Sam huffs out a sigh. He prefers things colder, cold to the extreme, and he’s surprised Dean hasn’t noticed that yet. After a few minutes, Sam reaches for the radio knob to turn the station and surreptitiously turns off the heating then, letting the cold seep into the car from the chill outside.  The cold wraps around Sam like an embrace, and if he closes his eyes, he can feel Lucifer’s fingers on his spine.

 

_ “You want me, Sammy, don’t you?”  Lucifer whispers as Michael tears into Adam’s flesh in a distant corner of the Cage. He brushes Sam’s hair back behind his ear, and Sam shudders at the icy touch. His hair is matted and congealed, thick blood still drying on his face and gluing his locks together. The gentle gesture from his captor tears off a freshly made scab, and blood flows freely from his scalp again. “It’s been so long since I’ve touched you, hasn’t it?  My torture is practically love-making compared to my brother’s, isn’t it? And they give the devil a bad rap.” _

 

Sam sits rigid in his seat in the Impala, eyes closed, allowing the memory to pull over him in a cold comfort that he would, if pressed, liken to when Dean would wrap his big jacket around Sam’s skinny shoulders when they were younger, providing protection and safety, smelling of home and love.

 

_ “L-Lucifer, please,” Sam chokes out, trying to see the angel looming over him, his eye puffy and swollen almost shut. It hurts with every blink, but the pain is grounding. As long as he’s still feeling pain, he’s still real.  _

_ Adam’s screaming buzzes faintly in Sam’s ear, but his sole focus is aimed at the angel above him. _

_ “Use your words, Samuel,” Lucifer tuts, straightening as He taps a staccato beat of His fingertips on His own lip, looking down at Sam with a quiet hunger. “You know you have to ask nicely.” _

_ “Please, touch me,” Sam pleas, choking thickly on the copper tang of blood in his throat.  He knows that Lucifer’s touch means healing. It means cold, means comfort, means reprieve. He knows that his body is just a manifestation of his soul, but his every atom aches with pain. Michael has not been kind. _

_ “Good boy,” Lucifer purrs, pressing a tender hand to Sam’s cheek. Sam nuzzles into the touch, keening softly, a broken noise of a plea. A cold light settles across his skin, and he gasps. He looks up again at Lucifer, eyes clear. No more ache.  _

_ “Thank you,” Sam sobs in relief, pressing himself against Lucifer’s leg, hand fisting in the fabric of the jeans the Devil still likes to wear on occasion. His breath punches out of him when a cold hand wraps around his wrist, fingers resting across his pulse-point. _

_ Lucifer pulls him up firmly, but not painfully, and brackets Sam’s now unbroken body against the wall of the Cage, pressing His nose against Sam’s. Their lips are almost touching, they’re trading breaths and Sam  _ wants _.  _

_ “Ask me, Sammy, and thou shalt receive,” Lucifer murmurs against Sam’s lips. His hands are firm, a solid grip in Sam’s hair and a gentle pressure at his back. Sam knows He can feel the flush of Sam’s skin under the threadbare clothes on his body. He knows because he knows Lucifer craves it. Heat is the one thing He’s been deprived of for millennia, since the dawn of man, and Sam gives it to Him willingly, happily. _

_ “Please kiss me,” Sam begs quietly. The Devil presses their lips together softly, pushing into Sam until their bodies are flush, no space between them. Sam keens into Lucifer’s mouth, and he can feel the Devil’s lips turn into a smile. He knows he’s broken, he knows he’s Lucifer’s bitch, but he doesn’t fucking care. He’s here for eternity, and if Lucifer decides to show mercy, then Sam will eagerly lap it up. _

_ “My good boy,” Lucifer praises, kissing harder. The icy tongue delves into Sam’s hot mouth, seeking out the warmth and the slick and the pliant force of Sam’s tongue moving eagerly against His. _

_ “Sammy…” The Devil whispers into his skin as he pulls away and presses his face into the crook of Sam’s neck, and he tilts his head back obediently, arching his body wantonly into his angel’s. Icy brands press into his skin, cold lips painful but so so sweet against his neck. _

_ “Sammy…” _

 

“Sammy!” 

Sam snaps his eyes open with a jerk, breath coming in harsh pants and expression wild as he’s pulled violently back to the present by the worried bark of his brother’s voice in his ear and a scalding hot touch of Dean’s hand on his shoulder.

“What, Dean?” Sam croaks, his voice utterly wrecked. Dean’s eyebrows knit together in concern, but his eyes darken in what Sam knows immediately is want.  It’s always intoxicating how in tune Dean is to Sam, even soulless as he is. It’s so heady, knowing he has so much influence over his brother.

“Dude, you checked out for a  _ while _ . I thought you didn’t sleep, but you were dead to the world, dude, are you okay? Where did you go?”

Sam clears his throat, shifting in his seat in an attempt to hide the wet spot in his pants. He hisses under his breath as his hard cock brushes painfully against the denim, and he can feel Dean’s hungry, worried gaze on him like a hot poker.

“Hell,” Sam says in a closed-off voice that made it clear it wasn’t up for discussion.

“ _ Oh _ ,” Dean replies, a small sound that manages to convey multiple emotions, the most troubling being realization.  Sam knows he’s given away too much, and he hopes Dean won’t press because he is  _ so _ not up for hashing out the details of  _ that _ weirdness.  “Well, uh-”  Sam clears his throat loudly, interrupting Dean before he can get any traction.

“So, where are we?” Sam asks as he straightens in his seat, joints cracking as he struggles to stretch his giant body in the small car. A sliver of skin is bared as his shirt rides up, and Sam can feel Dean’s gaze on him. He grins as Dean’s eyes flick from the road to that strip of skin distractedly, unable to break away until Sam puts his arms back down.  Sam spreads his legs, letting his knee brush against Dean’s, loving the audible swallow Dean makes and the twitch of his brother’s fingers on the steering wheel.

“Another ten hours outside of Estes Park,” Dean replies, his voice a little strained. 

“Okay,” Sam says with a yawn, stretching his arms over his head before letting one arm drape casually over the seat. His fingers are barely brushing the nape of Dean’s neck, and he looks away to grin when Dean shivers.  “Can we stop somewhere soon? I need to stretch my legs.”

“No problemo, Gigantor,” Dean says with a grin that’s just this side of  _ trying too hard _ . 

Sam closes his eyes with a smile and allows the cold to wash over him like Lucifer’s caress, basking in it until they finally roll to a stop.

“You do what you gotta do, little brother,” Dean says as he exits the car. Sam clambers out of his side, his hands reaching skyward, and he can feel Dean’s eyes on him with the same intensity as the cold nipping at his skin as he bares the small of his back.  He bends over and touches his toes, subtly presenting his ass to Dean with a satisfied groan that’s just shy of inappropriate. Dean clears his throat uncomfortably, and Sam turns to him with a look of feigned surprise, mouth falling open in an exaggerated “o” that draws Dean’s helpless gaze.  Sam resists the urge to grin, instead donning a careful mask of sheepishness that has Dean looking away guiltily.

“What?” Sam asks defensively, crossing his arms to form an extra barrier between them that didn’t go unnoticed by his big brother.

“What?” Dean echoes distractedly. Sam watches with satisfaction as a red tinge of embarrassment creeps into his cheeks. “Oh. You just sound like you’re having a pretty good time over there, man.” The older man looks around the parking lot of the rest stop for some kind of an out. 

“What, you jealous?” Sam laughs, and laughs a little louder when the blush spreads to Dean’s ears and throat, too. “There’s room for two over here,” he says in an over-the-top bedroom voice, waggling his eyebrows exaggeratedly. Dean tries to laugh it off, but the quiet spark of heat behind his eyes betrays him.

“Yeah, whatever, weirdo,” the older man says gruffly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket and walking toward the bathroom.  “I’m gonna take a leak. When you’re done with your happy special fun times, lemme know and we can hit the road.”

Sam just laughs, eyes following Dean’s form all the way across the parking lot until he disappears from view. 

\--

They get into the national park about eight hours after their pit stop, and after some badge flashes and winning smiles, they’ve got a room in one of the cabins nearby. Sam’s already feeling the itch, the rush of burning that diner to the ground short-lived in the face of the empty wilderness they’re surrounded by. There’s not a town for thirty miles in any direction, and he can’t run the risk of Dean waking up to find him gone with no explanation. 

It takes them only a few minutes to move their bags into the cabin, and they both take a seat at the table. Dean pulls out his pistol and takes it apart, meticulously cleaning each piece with a single-minded focus that makes Sam jealous of the gun.  He’s keyed up, antsy, and his leg bounces a staccato rhythm as he leans forward in his seat. His fingers strum restlessly on his legs, on the table, on the butt of his gun until Dean’s hand snatches out and grabs them. Sam’s eyes snap up to Dean’s, and whatever his brother sees there (probably the dangerous desire of the predator Sam works so hard to keep hidden) has him dropping the younger’s hand like it scalded him.

“Sorry, man, you’re just driving me insane. What’s your deal? Go for a run or whatever it is you weirdo health nuts do. Burn off some energy.” Dean resolutely avoids his gaze as Sam slides out of his seat, but his eyes are glued to Sam’s long, slender fingers and the way they’re gripping the table.  Sam leers down at his brother, letting those fingers caress the edge of the table from corner to corner as he walks by Dean. He notes the shiver that jolts up Dean’s spine, and uses that moment to place his hand on Dean’s shoulder, applying the same caress in a way that appears accidental before he heads for the door.

“Sure, Dean,” Sam murmurs, not even bothering to grab his jacket before he heads out into the cold. 

The door shuts quietly behind him, and he pauses a moment to watch Dean from the window. His brother is running a hand over his face, gun abandoned, and a slow smile creeps into Sam’s features when he sees Dean’s hand is shaking. Dean’s strong, but even he has a threshold. 

Sam walks away from the cabin with a calculating grin plastered across his face. He just needs to keep pushing like this. It won’t be long now. 

He walks and walks aimlessly, fingers brushing the butt of his gun pressed against his back when he hears a fairly large branch snap every now and then, but it never turns out to be anything. Not that his gun would do much good, but still, Sam isn’t too worried. 

As he walks, he takes off his jacket, letting the cold seep into his bones.  If Sam had a soul, he would find it odd that he finds the cold so comforting now that he’s out of the Cage.  But in honesty he misses the cold burn of the angel’s fingers down his spine. Michael’s rage burned hot, scalded him from the inside out. Lucifer was cold, was patience and comfort and relief.  He was lust and gentleness and love, though without his soul, Sam doesn’t really care as much about that last bit.  Now that he’s topside, the heat makes him irritable and restless, too reminiscent of Michael’s scalding touch.  Being embraced by the cold is the only time he ever feels at rest, aside from when he has a victim whimpering in front of him with a blade in his hand.

He sits alone in the forest and drinks in the cold, letting it chill him to the bone. Sam leans against a tree, letting the bark dig into his skin as the memories of Hell pull him down again.

 

_ “Sam,” Lucifer purrs into his ear as He pushes into Sam. Sam gasps, gripping Lucifer’s shoulders for support, the cold burn of the angel’s cock splitting him open making his head spin with want.   _

_ “Oh, G-” Sam bites his lip, looking nervously into Lucifer’s face at the almost-slip. The last time Sam called out God’s name during sex, Lucifer had left him tied to the rack for a month, ignoring him completely while Michael tore him apart. Lucifer’s expression darkens, but only slightly since Sam caught himself. _

_ “Good, you’re learning,” Lucifer says with a dangerous smile. That smile always sets Sam’s blood on fire. It’s terrifying, but Sam’s become addicted to the fear.  He moans at the praise and clutches tighter against Lucifer as the Devil fucks into him, deep and slow and agonizing, the fat head of His cock pressing into his prostate with every thrust. _

_ Adam’s thick screams ring in Sam’s ears, but it only makes him harder. Feeling Sam clench down on His cock, Lucifer laughs, wrapping his hand casually around Sam’s throat and squeezing as he continues the slow, steady rhythm.  _

_ Lucifer loves to fuck Sam slowly, wringing out every cry of pleasure and pain, steadily bringing him to the point of insanity, making him beg for it before letting Sam get his release. He loves cataloguing the slow changes, the minute differences in pitch and inflection of Sam’s moans and pleas, finding which buttons to press harder to make him dizzy. _

 

Sam draws a shaking hand to his crotch, where he unzips his pants and pulls out his cock, giving it a few solid strokes. His head falls back against the rough bark, eyes screwed shut as he loses himself in the memory.

 

_ “L-Lucifer, please,” Sam begs, his cock swollen and leaking where it’s trapped between them. Lucifer smiles indulgently and presses His fingers into Sam’s hips hard enough to bruise, and Sam arches into the pain-pleasure with a choked off moan.  He digs bloody crescents into Sam’s beautiful skin, and the sight of his blood on Lucifer’s hands has a strangled noise tearing its way from his throat. “Lucifer,” Sam cries out, feeling too much and not enough, “Lucifer, please, I need to come, please please please, Lucifer!” Lucifer doesn’t reply, only pushes in deeper until every thrust skates across Sam’s prostate until Sam is sobbing with the need, his face streaked with tears.  _

_ Lucifer leans down and kisses the corners of Sam’s eyes, making Sam’s heart ache with feeling.  _

_ “Come for me, Sammy,” He whispers into Sam’s neck, speeding up his thrusts. “Come for me. Come for the Devil.” _

_ With a strangled cry of “Thank you!” Sam spasms around Lucifer’s cock, spilling onto his chest in broad stripes as the angel pumps into him in harsh thrusts before stilling, and he can feel the chill of Lucifer’s semen filling him. Sam sobs thickly as another orgasm wracks through him, arcing his spine like a bow, and Lucifer growls possessively at the sight.  _

 

Sam comes with a shout, cock throbbing as he empties himself onto the forest floor. He sags heavily against the tree behind him, head spinning with the force of his orgasm, and he takes a few unsteady breaths before the world slowly comes back into focus.  It’s only when he’s able to regulate his breathing that Sam realizes his phone’s been ringing.  Shit. He shoves a hand into his pocket, flipping it open swiftly and pressing it to his ear.

“ _ Dude what the hell happened to you? It’s been hours!” _

Sam grimaces at the phone.  _ Why does he always have to yell? _

“Sorry, Dean, I lost track of time,” Sam says with a shrug as he pushes himself off the tree to head back to the cabin.  There’s a long silence on the other line.

“ _ Were you jacking off, dude _ ?” Dean asks suspiciously. Sam has to bite back a laugh. He  _ knew _ Dean would focus on that little gem he’d slipped in back in New York.

“What? Dean, no,” Sam says, adopting a defensive tone that he knew Dean would respond to immediately. Sure enough, he hears a sharp intake of breath on the other line. A loaded pause hangs in the air, and Sam can feel the tension like a physical touch. He knows Dean won’t follow through, not yet, but it still makes him itch with anticipation.

“ _ Oh my god you so were _ !” Dean barks out an incredulous laugh, but Sam can still hear the tinge of desire his brother works so hard to keep hidden. 

“So what, Dean?” Sam huffs, feigning irritation as he followed his tracks back out of the woods. “I told you I still do it, what’s the big deal?” A calculating expression slides into place on Sam’s face as he talks. “Unless you wanted a front-row seat?” He lets his voice hit that rough timbre that he knows makes Dean shiver, but throws in a laugh to lighten the moment. “Is that it, Dean? You wanted to catch your brother in the act?” Sam lingers on the word  _ brother _ , turning it into something sinful and promising on his tongue.

Dean hesitates a beat too long before responding.

“ _ What? Shut up, Sam, you perv, _ ” Dean huffs indignantly, and Sam can practically hear the blush over the phone line. Sam laughs, a filthy, lusty chuckle that has the breath leaving Dean’s lungs in a crackly punch on the other line of the phone.  “ _ Shut up, bitch _ ,” Dean says with a bit more force, but Sam just laughs again.

“Whatever, jerk.”  The word comes out, just a muscle memory response to Dean’s jabbing use of the word “bitch,” and he falters, worried that Dean is going to withdraw again. When Dean just snorts out a laugh into the phone, Sam grins. “I’m on my way back to the cabin, alright? I’ll see you in about twenty minutes.”

He shuts the phone with a soft click, smiling the whole way back.  Dean’s playing right into his hands.

\--  
  
Night after night, the brothers go out to the site of the kills and searched for the pack. Night after night they come back to the cabin, covered in dirt and twigs, muscles aching and nerves fried. Night after night Sam tests Dean’s willpower, touching him much more than necessary, toeing the line between joking and flirting, showing off as much of himself as possible without arousing suspicion. Night after night, Sam’s patience wanes, thinning like a frayed rope holding too much weight. They’re isolated out here, and he hasn’t heard the screaming of a pretty girl in weeks.  It’s beginning to show in the dark circles under his eyes, the restless tension down his spine, the rhythmic drumming of his fingertips on every available surface. He knows he’s wearing on Dean’s patience as well, he can see it in the wary way Dean regards him when he thinks Sam’s not looking, when Sam is frantically pacing the floor or putting too much enthusiasm into mundane tasks like cleaning their weapons or doing laundry.  He can see the way Dean’s resistance wanes in the same way. He can feel Dean’s eyes on him longer and hotter, can hear the want in his brother voice becoming more poorly disguised by the day, and sometimes Sam’s hands tremble with the anticipation. He knows that Dean will snap before they leave this place, and he hopes to heaven or hell that it’s before Sam kills him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean gets hurt, and Sam fixes him up.
> 
> (mostly porn with a bit of plot thrown in tbh)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally getting some traction here. 
> 
> There's a brief scene involving needles, but it's just Sam hooking Dean up to an IV.

The day they find the wendigo nest, Sam jacks off in the shower, and he’s not quiet about it. 

He’s tired, and irritable, and he looks haggard. His face is drawn tight, dark bruises under his eyes reminiscent of the times he would stay up for days on end at Stanford. His mouth is a tightly pressed slash across his face, and his cheeks are sunken in. Dean has even commented on how pale he looks now. Dean’s convinced that Sam has some sort of illness, and he’s not entirely wrong. Sam knows it’s because he hasn’t been able to scratch the itch.  Being in such close proximity with Dean without being able to sate the itch has been almost unbearable, and almost his undoing.  He keeps hearing Dean jack off when he thinks Sam’s sleeping, and Dean seems to be reaching his breaking point as well, because he’s barely even trying to hide the way his hot gaze lingers on Sam’s body after a shower or a run. He’s also fairly certain that Dean now pretends to fall asleep, waiting to catch Sam masturbating now that he’s planted that image in his brother’s mind. 

And, well, Sam hates to disappoint. So he masturbates. A lot. At varying times throughout the day and night, always when he knows Dean is trying to catch him. Knowing that his brother is watching, or listening, makes him come that much harder, and it gets more and more difficult to bite down the groan of Dean’s name when he does. 

He can feel the tension between them stretching thinner and thinner, and he knows that it’s going to snap soon.  Neither of them have enough self-control to maintain this for much longer.

So, when they finally find the nest and go back to the cabin to regroup, Sam decides to add one more feather to the scale. 

They have to wait for nightfall anyway, and Sam is still sweaty from his run. Dean is sitting at the table cleaning and oiling their guns, putting together the molotovs and loading cans of aerosol into easy to grab places in their packs, and Sam figures this is the most opportune time to do what he plans to. 

With a grin at Dean’s unsuspecting form, Sam heads over to the dresser beside his bed and sets out a clean pair of pants, underwear, and a flannel, all folded up nicely on his neatly made bed.  He tosses another glance in his brother’s direction as he tugs his shirt over his head, still damp with the sweat of exertion. Sam pulls off his pants in the same manner, sliding his belt from his pants with a resounding pop that he’s sure has Dean’s attention, and when Sam shimmies his pants down his hips and lets them drop to the floor to join his shirt, he can feel his brother’s heated gaze on his back. 

“What are you doing?” 

Sam hadn’t expected Dean to break the silence, so the surprise in his expression when he turns to face his brother is completely genuine. He also recognizes the poorly disguised desire in Dean’s tone, and he licks his lips in response.

“Um, what’s it look like?” Sam says with a shrug, feigning nonchalance and he makes no move to cover up as he watches Dean’s gaze rake across his body in a way that is anything but brotherly. “I’m getting out of these dirty clothes,” he finishes as he hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his underwear and begins to tug, his eyes never leaving Dean’s. 

He’s totally calling Dean’s bluff in their game of not-gay-for-your-brother chicken, and when Dean’s mouth parts in a harsh exhale as the subtle v of Sam’s toned hips comes into view, Sam smirks. It’s a cocky movement, a ‘gotcha’ that Dean registers loud and clear, because he pales and turns away, shifting the shattered remnants of his attention back to the guns on the table.

With a widening grin, Sam turns back around and pulls off his boxers, and he can hear Dean’s quiet, shaky breath from behind him as he steps out of his underwear and walks to the bathroom. 

“Don’t take forever,” Dean calls out in a hoarse voice behind him, and Sam knows that his brother’s eyes are still glued to the shapely curve of his ass. “We have some monsters to kill once the sun goes down.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Sam shrugs and shuts the door behind him before turning the shower on. Once the water gets warm enough, he steps inside and yanks the shower curtain closed as the water shoots across his skin. He dips his head forward, letting the water cascade down his back and soaking his hair. 

In silence, he lathers up his hands in shampoo and rakes through his hair, scrubbing at his scalp in a soothing way that pushes a quiet sigh from his lips.  Soap drips in rivulets down his chest, and he glides a hand across his torso, pausing to tweak one nipple and then the other absentmindedly.  

Sam hisses softly at the sensation, the pinch of pain, and arousal begins unfurling in his belly. With a glance in the direction of the bedroom, a sly grin slides into place on his face, and Sam slowly trails his hand lower, scraping nails across the hard planes of his stomach, and his eyes drift closed. One hand brackets against the wall of the shower as the other skates lower still, and Sam groans thickly into the crook of his elbow as his slick hand finally grasps his already hard cock.  He grazes the fat tip of it with his fingernails, rolling his hips into the pleasure-pain with a hiss. 

Snagging his lower lip between his teeth, Sam slowly pumps his cock, sighing out a moan as he slips into a steady rhythm. He can’t help but picture Dean on his knees in front of him, pressed sharply against the back of the shower as Sam fucks his throat. He groans a little louder at that, hand stuttering over his cock as he pictures those fucking ridiculously plush lips of Dean’s spread wide around his dick, red and swollen and shining with spit as he lets Sam use him. Dean’s hands would scrabble for purchase against Sam’s ass cheeks, just holding on, not daring to try to adjust the pace in any way. Sam’s hand moves faster and he groans loudly into his arm as he pictures Dean, having surrendered so ultimately, wanting nothing more than to please Sam, to be worthy of any reward Sam sees fit to dole out.

Sam is jerked out of his fantasy when he hears a large clatter in the bedroom, and he grins as he realizes Dean must have heard that last moan. Fisting his cock faster, he gives another, louder moan, cock throbbing with the knowledge that Dean is listening to him. He careens toward orgasm headlong, coming with a muffled shout. He sags against the arm that is holding him upright as he spills over his hand, a desperate, greedy noise ripping its way from his throat as he’s overwhelmed by it. A dull thud vibrates through the door, and Sam can practically see the way Dean stood up too quickly and sent his chair flying backward.  He grins as he catches his breath, rinsing the soap out of his hair with shaky hands as the water washes away the last evidence of his activities.

Another ten minutes pass, and Sam decides it’s probably safe to disturb Dean, so he shuts off the water with a flick of his wrist and towel dries his hair, scrubbing the excess moisture off his body before wrapping the towel dangerously low around his waist.  With a deep breath and a calm, confident smile, he steps back into the bedroom.

Dean is propped up on his bed, legs folded, hands clasped across his stomach as he pretends to watch something on the television.  Despite his attempt to play nonchalant, his entire body is taut with tension, and Sam grins even wider. 

Shifting uncomfortably under Sam’s calm, almost predatory stance, Dean forces a smirk onto his face and quips, “Did you have fun in there?” 

Sam knows that Dean’s trying to make him embarrassed, to shift the dynamic more in his favor, but Sam has no intention of letting that happen. Instead, he allows his smile to broaden, eyes dark with desire.

“Oh, yeah,” Sam says, tone full of intent.  He feels rather than hears the sharp inhale of surprise that catches in Dean’s chest, and just grins at Dean as he makes his way over to his own bed, where his fresh clothes are all lined up for him. He can feel his brother’s eyes on him like a physical touch, and he knows that he still has that bright-eyed post-sex flush.  Sam bends down to grab the shirt and looks up at Dean from under his lashes, letting his tongue dart out over his lips in a promise that he hopes he’ll be able to fulfill sooner rather than later.  Dean is pinned, helpless under Sam’s gaze, mouth parted softly as his eyes widen in surprise.  Sam chuckles, a low, throaty sound, and the moment he releases Dean with a downward flick of his eyes, Dean springs up off the mattress across from him. 

“Yeah, well, hurry up and get dressed so we can get going, Hefner,” Dean grumbles, his irritation a poor mask for the sharp line of tension in his spine as he does everything he can to not look at his brother. 

Sam drops the towel, grinning at the slight flinch Dean gives at the muffled sound.  He quickly pulls on the rest of his clothes once he decides Dean is done looking at him for the forseeable future, and before long they’re headed out the door. Sam somehow manages to brush his hips against his brother’s as they’re leaving, and the visible shiver that snakes down Dean’s spine is so satisfying to watch.

\--

They drive the Impala as far into the trail as they can before continuing on foot.  Flashlights in one hand, pistol in the other, the boys hike for about an hour as they follow the trail markers that they left earlier in the day.

Sam grins as the light from Dean’s flashlight bobs behind him, and he’s almost sure that he can feel Dean’s eyes on him yet again. 

A sharp crack resounds behind them, and whatever lascivious thoughts the two are having are pushed aside as they search for the monster.

Sam’s got the flashlight jammed in his mouth while he grabs a molotov from his backpack, ready to throw at a moment’s notice.

“Sam!”

He turns on instinct to where his brother is pointing and lets it fly, rewarded with an ear-piercing shriek as the wendigo is engulfed in flame.

“Nice shot, Sammy!” Dean crows, hefting his own molotov in his hand as he prepares for another attack.  Sam bends down, slipping the pack off his shoulders and digging for another when he hears a solid thud behind him. He whips around to see a wendigo pinning his brother to the ground, Dean’s shirt already wet with blood.

“ _ Hey! _ ” Sam roars, snarling when the monster twists its neck to look up at him, and he tosses the incendiary directly at its face. The monster staggers back when it hits, erupting into flames only a few feet from Dean.  Immediate threat dealt with, Sam runs over to his brother, dropping to his knees beside him.

“Dean, Dean, hey!” Sam shouts, not liking the pallid color of Dean’s cheeks as the color fades from his face. 

“M’alright, Sammy,” Dean slurs, and Sam is about to smack him and tell him that he’s  _ not  _ alright, thank you very much when another shrieking roar resounds behind them. Dean makes a distressed noise and tries to get up, but doesn’t even manage to prop himself up on his elbows before collapsing again, and Sam is rolling to his feet, grabbing the molotov that Dean dropped and chucking it. 

Another shriek that’s sure to give him a headache later, and Sam’s back at Dean’s side, grabbing his brother’s hand and pressing it into the wound. In any other context, the sight of their hands together covered in blood would be arousing, but he is  _ not _ about to lose Dean to some half-assed monster chump.

“Dean, stay with me, you hear me?” Sam growls, shaking Dean roughly. “You need to apply pressure to this while I get the med-kit from my pack.”

“Mkay, RoboSammy,” Dean assents weakly, pressing as hard as he can into his side, groaning when his hands slip in their purchase. 

Sam wastes no time, immediately cutting off Dean’s shirt with the scissors in the kit, and dropping a quick squirt of alcohol over the wound, which makes Dean cry out in protest.

“Shut up, you baby,” Sam murmurs as he presses a thick pad of gauze to the admittedly nasty looking wound. Once they get back to the cabin, he can stitch him up, but they aren’t sure how many monsters are still out there and Sam isn’t taking down an entire pack on his own with Dean in this state.  He presses adhesive tape to Dean’s bare chest around the gauze, and after shoving everything back in his pack, he bends down and scoops up his brother, trying to ignore the way Dean’s breath ghosts across his ear from the way his brother’s head is nestled into the crook of his neck.

“S’mbarrassing,” Dean murmurs, and Sam huffs out a chuckle. 

“What, me carrying you like a damsel in distress?”

Dean makes a wordless noise of protest, but doesn’t disagree.

“When did you get so strong, Sammy? Barely even breakin’ a sweat,” Dean murmurs in awe, fisting a weak hand in the fabric of Sam’s shirt as Sam hefts his weight.  “When’d you get all these muscles?”

“I work out a lot,” Sam laughs.

Dean lolls contentedly against Sam’s chest, which he would find endearing if he had a soul, but at present it’s only a cause for concern. “Dean, I need you to stay awake, okay? Hey!” Sam shouts, shoving Dean’s head with his shoulder, and Dean rolls with it, head lifting as his eyes flutter back open and fix blearily on Sam.

“You’re so pretty, Sammy,” Dean breathes, as if he’s awestruck, and Sam glances down at him in concern. He must have lost a lot of blood if he’s babbling like this. “No, I mean it, Sam,” Dean continues as he registers the dubious expression on Sam’s face. “You’ve got these thick brown waves of hair, and not many guys can pull off the long-haired look but it  _ works _ for you, dude.” Dean laughs, then hisses in pain. “Ugh. No laughing, Sammy. That hurts.”

“Well, I’m not surprised, man, you got tore up pretty good.”

“Shaddup. Oh, and your  _ eyes _ , bro. They’re ridiculous.”

_ No, you’re ridiculous _ , Sam thinks to himself with a snort.

“Don’t laugh! I’m serious! They’re like… the way sunlight filters through whiskey. Fuckin’ beautiful.” Dean sighs, a dramatic, lovestruck sound, and Sam bites his lip so he doesn’t laugh in his brother’s face. He adjusts his grip on Dean’s thigh as they walk.

“I had no idea you were such a sap, Dean,” Sam quips, though the words ring with honesty. If Sam had his soul, he knew they’d be having A Moment. 

“Only for you, little brother,” Dean says with a lopsided grin.

“You’re gonna hate yourself in the morning for being so romantic,” Sam laughs, and laughs again at the pout threatening to steal across Dean’s face.

“Whatever, Sammy, why you gotta ruin the moment?” Dean’s petulant tone makes him grin, and he rolls his shoulders as he walks.

“It’s what I do best, man,” he replies with a wink down at his brother, who looks away glumly.  “Anyway, we’re almost to the car. I’m gonna get you all fixed up, big brother, as long as you’re not a bitch about the stitches.”

“You know I love it when you take control like that, Sammy,” Dean says with a flirtatious grin that might have had Sam going for it if it weren’t for the worrisome lack of color in those freckled cheeks. 

“Stow it, Casanova, we’re here. Can you walk, or do I gotta put you in the car myself?”

“I’m a big boy, Sammy,” Dean grumbles, motioning for Sam to put him down once they were within a few feet of the Impala. Sam complies, gingerly setting Dean on his feet, and he’s grateful that he kept an arm wrapped around his brother’s waist when Dean crumples immediately.  “Whoop. I don’t think gravity’s supposed to work that way,” Dean giggles.  Sam sighs heavily, grabbing Dean firmly by the waist and leading him step by step to the car, propping him carefully against the side of the Impala while he wedges the door open.

“Alright, Dean, in we go,” Sam says, pulling Dean flush to his body and trying very hard to ignore the way Dean presses into the contact, hands sliding up the back of Sam’s shirt to touch bare skin as he tries to navigate the older man into the passenger seat. “Uh, Dean,” Sam coughs. “What are you doing?”

“Hmm?” Dean murmurs, face pressed into the crook of Sam’s neck as his hands continue their meandering over Sam’s bare flesh.  “Nuthin’,” he says with a mischievous tone and a smile that Sam can feel on his neck. 

“Uh-huh, sure. Nothing. That’s,” Sam swallows audibly as he feels Dean press feather-light kisses along his jaw. Voice suddenly rough, he continues, “That’s. That’s not nothing, Dean.”

Dean chuckles, a lusty, promising sound that has Sam’s cock hardening despite himself.

“Dean…” Sam’s instincts are warring. The instinct to take, to claim, to accept what Dean is offering with no regrets. But the instinct to protect is too strong. Dean’s lost a lot of blood, and if he doesn’t get at least a bag of saline soon, he’ll probably bleed out in the impala.

“You got any idea how long I wanted to touch you like this, Sammy?” Dean breathes into Sam’s jaw, and a violent shudder rakes up the taller man’s spine. Sam knows he should be shoving Dean into the car, but he’s frozen. Dean’s fingernails rake across his back, and he groans.

“Goddammit, Dean, do you want to stay alive or not?” Sam growls, eyes dark and glittering as he finally bursts into action. His hands wrap firmly around Dean’s biceps and he pushes his brother a safer distance away with a strong grip.  “Quit groping me so I can save you, jackass.” Sam shoves Dean into the passenger seat before the older man has time to formulate a reply, or worse, another attack, because God help him, Sam has his limits.

“M’supposed to save you, little bro,” Dean protests weakly, but Sam cuts him off by shoving his legs into the car and slamming the door before striding around and clambering in the driver’s seat and taking off as quickly as he dares. 

“Yeah, well, don’t get jumped by a fucking wendigo and I won’t have to,” Sam says with a laugh, but it’s half-hearted at best. 

Dean hums a very sloppy rendition of Smoke on the Water while Sam drives, white-knuckling the steering wheel the whole way.

\--

Sam parks haphazardly in front of the cabin, killing the engine before he’s leaping out of the car and running over to Dean’s side. He scoops him up with minimal protest, and practically kicks the door down in his haste. Once inside, he sets Dean gingerly on the bed and begins digging through their duffels for the emergency-emergency kit. His fingers finally close around a wide plastic box, and Sam sighs in relief.  Prize in hand, he heads back to Dean’s side and starts stripping his brother.  Dean stirs at this and gives Sam a bleary grin.

“If y’wanted me naked, little bro, all you had to do was ask,” Dean says with his best panty-dropping smile, and Sam snorts even as his cock stirs. He glares down at it traitorously before returning his focus to getting Dean out of those bloody clothes.

“Do you ever shut up?”

“I could think of a few ways you could shut me up.” A ridiculously cheesy line, complete with a complimentary eyebrow waggle.

“How are you this perky when you’re half out of your mind from blood loss?”

“It’s a gift.”

Sam snorts at that, choosing to ignore his brother in favor of stripping him. The pants are a struggle, and with a bit too much jostling, and perhaps a bit more manhandling than is strictly necessary, he finally has Dean down to his boxers.  

He gingerly pulls the now soaked gauze from Dean’s wound, and tosses it into the waste bin between their beds. Only a slow trickle of blood seeps from the gash now, but Sam still can’t tell the extent of the damage with all the blood. He leans over to root in Dean’s nightstand, knocking aside the box of condoms and KY jelly to find the bottle of jim beam he knew was hiding in there. Uprighting himself, Sam unscrews the lid and looks up at Dean.

“This is gonna hurt,” he warns, and he can’t help the smile creeping onto his face when Dean yells out roughly as he pours the bottle over the wound, using a clean section of the remnants of Dean’s shirt to dab the blood off of the surrounding area. When he’s done, he leans back on his haunches to inspect the damage.

Sam whistles appreciatively at the four angry red gashes across Dean’s stomach and up onto his torso. 

“Dude, you got fucking  _ sliced _ .”

Dean lifts his head to peer down at himself, then lets his head fall back to the mattress with a groan.  Right. IV.

Sam flips open the box he grabbed a moment ago and pulls out a bag of saline, ripping open the needle package with his teeth and screwing it into the tube. He looms over Dean, wrapping the tie around his brother’s arm tightly, and taps with his finger for the vein. 

He grins triumphantly.

_ Yahtzee. _

He closes Dean’s hand into a fist, allowing the vein to pop out sharply against the rest of his skin, and carefully lines the needle up before sliding it home.

“Wow,” Sam says, a slight tremor in his voice as he watches Dean’s skin suck up the needle.  Dean makes an inquisitive noise, and Sam smirks up at him. “Just, you. Your skin is so pliant. I really like the way you just  _ gave _ to the needle.”

At that, Dean pushes himself up on his other elbow and fixes Sam with a look that’s equal parts wary and humor.

“That has to be the creepiest compliment I’ve ever received, but thank you, Samuel.” Dean grins, a weary smile that doesn’t quite stretch across his face, but his eyes are sparkling with mirth and it loosens something in Sam’s chest.

“You’re welcome, jerk,” Sam quips, and for an instant it’s just like old times. The moment hangs there between them, and they’re both too afraid to break it to even breathe, but eventually Sam stands up and hangs the IV bag on the bedpost, and the moment’s gone.  He clears his throat, reaching for the needle and thread before settling himself between Dean’s legs.  Setting the needle between his teeth, Sam hooks both of his arms under Dean’s thighs and gently pulls his brother to the edge of the bed with an ease that has Dean moaning quietly beneath him. Sam has to bite back an answering groan, instead focusing on the gashes oozing droplets of blood in front of him. With painstaking precision, Sam presses the needle into the flesh at one end of the top-most gash, pulling the thread through an inch before lining up the skin and beginning to close the wound, one flick of the wrist at a time. When Dean hisses in pain, Sam digs his elbows into his brother’s thighs, holding him in place and giving him a different pain to focus on. 

Pull, thread, push. Pull, thread, push. Sam falls easily into the rhythm and after fifteen minutes of continuous threading, Dean’s wounds are closed. He grabs the half-empty whiskey bottle and pours another brief torrent over the lacerations for good measure, grinning when Dean yelps and jerks forward, eyes snapping wide, and Sam notes that there’s a clarity to them now that there wasn’t previously. The IV is definitely working.

He looks back at the wounds, ties off the last stitch, and carefully cuts the thread with a pocket knife before pressing a fresh pad of gauze over the area. With delicate fingers, Sam presses the strips of tape into Dean’s skin where the gauze ends, and he can feel the way his brother’s breath hitches with every brush of his fingertips.  He knows Dean’s gaze is heavy on his, and he resolutely ignores him until the last piece of tape is applied. 

With a sigh, Sam’s hands fall loosely to Dean’s thighs, and he finally looks up at his brother. Dean’s eyes are full of warmth and tenderness, and something darker that has a shiver tracing its way down Sam’s spine.

“Thank you, Sam,” Dean says softly, voice laced with affection that Sam doesn’t really know what to do with. So instead of replying, he reaches up and presses his thumb at the corner of Dean’s mouth, allowing his other fingers to fall across his jawline. Giving Dean plenty of time to pull away, but knowing he won’t, Sam rocks forward and presses their mouths together.

Sam can feel Dean’s lips part in a sharp inhale, and Sam takes the advantage to gently swipe his tongue across the older man’s bottom lip.  Dean groans deeply at that, eyes fluttering shut and he begins to respond, matching Sam’s slow exploratory pace but content to let Sam lead. He reaches up to weave a hand into Sam’s hair, just to run his fingers affectionately through it.

Sam presses his advantage and maps Dean’s bare skin with his fingers, tracing the lovely dip of his collarbone, following the constellations of freckles dusting his shoulders and pressing lower still, carefully skirting around the gauze as he traces the hard planes of muscle.  Dean sighs appreciatively into Sam’s mouth, and Sam’s hand skates up to Dean’s neck and pulls him down into the kiss as Sam nips at his lips.

“You’ve been a fucking tease all damn night,” Sam murmurs thickly into Dean’s mouth, and Dean lets out a shaky laugh, which Sam cuts off with another kiss to his brother’s lips before tilting his head to press a kiss to the corner of Dean’s mouth, and then another at the corner of his jaw.

“Sam,” Dean breathes out shakily, arching up into the contact as Sam’s hands skim down his sides to linger on his hips. He presses his thumps into the dips of Dean’s hip bones, teasingly scraping the skin just under the waistband of Dean’s boxers.

“Let me make you feel good, De,” Sam murmurs against the skin of his brother’s neck, still a bit cool to the touch, but warming rapidly as he digs the heel of his hand into Dean’s already hard cock.  Dean cries out, hips bucking into the sensation, head falling to the side in a wordless assent and Sam doesn’t need any further permission. He’s pressing hot kisses down the line of Dean’s neck, licking into the dip of his clavicle before skating lower, and when his lips latch onto Dean’s pert, dusky nipple, he groans.  It feels like forever and a day that he’s been planning this, and finally having Dean here, pliant and willing, it’s a heady thing. He can taste Dean’s sweat on his tongue as he laves at Dean’s nipple, and it makes him ache with want. Dean’s fingers are clutching helplessly in Sam’s hair, and he grins impishly as he bites down, reveling in the way Dean’s body arcs so beautifully under his ministrations, drinking in the gorgeous, piteous noises Dean’s making.

He skims his lips lower, leaving a wet trail down Dean’s side, and he pauses at those lovely hip bones that had his attention earlier. Sam presses his tongue into the groove on one side, fingers splayed on both of Dean’s thighs with his fingertips hooked into the elastic of his brother’s underwear. He licks his way to the other hip, tracing Dean’s happy trail briefly with his tongue just to hear him moan before latching his mouth around the flesh of Dean’s hip and  _ sucking. _ With a garbled cry, Dean arches up off the bed, hands fisting tight in Sam’s hair before releasing sharply, as though he’s afraid he’ll hurt Sam.

Sam’s mouth slides off Dean’s hip with a wet pop that has Dean’s eyes going black with want, and Sam grins as he murmurs roughly, “You’re not gonna break me, Dean,” before slipping his tongue under the waistband and brushing the head of Dean’s cock with it.

Dean cries out roughly, hips snapping and hands pulling taut in Sam’s hair, and Sam hisses in the pleasure-pain of it. He mouths at Dean’s cock through the fabric of his boxers, drawing out every whimper and groan that he can, lapping up the frantic grasping and tugging of his hair, and he grins when Dean pulls him back sharply with a fistful of his hair.

“Sammy, please,” he croaks, voice utterly wrecked. Sam’s momentarily blown away by how utterly  _ fucked _ Dean looks, as though Sam had just finished fucking him into next week, and not just barely touched his cock over his boxers.

“I got you, big brother,” Sam purrs reassuringly, though he notes the full-body shiver that courses down Dean’s spine when he gives him his best razor slash of a smile. He digs his fingers into the fabric of Dean’s underwear and tugs them downward, helping him him kick them aside and then he’s back settled between Dean’s legs, staring hungrily at his brother’s throbbing cock, already leaking steadily.  “God, De, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he groans, and rolls forward to swallow Dean’s dick down to the base. 

Dean lets out a strangled moan, sinking back onto the mattress with a soft plop, and Sam groans around his brother’s dick as it throbs in his mouth, blurting out a thick droplet of precome that has Sam’s mouth watering. With a soft moan, Sam rocks forward until his nose is dusting the thick curls at the base of his brother’s cock, and then he’s pulling off to lick at the head, to trace the thick veins with his tongue. Dean’s knuckles are white against the mattress, and he’s letting out these guttural noises of appreciation that Sam is devouring. He thinks he might be addicted to the taste of his brother’s cock, and when he buries it to the hilt again in his throat, wringing an especially desperate cry from Dean as he massages his cock with his throat, he decides that it’s a much healthier addiction than demon blood.

“Nng, god, Sam, where’d you learn to suck cock like this?” Dean asks, cracking an eye open to peer down at Sam swallowing his cock, and he’s spellbound. His mouth falls open dazedly as he watches Sam’s lips wrap around his dick, and when the head of it grazes the back of Sam’s throat, he whimpers and drops back to the bed.

“College,” Sam says roughly with a smirk up at Dean’s prone form. He gathers the thick drop of saliva trickling down Dean’s balls on his finger and presses back, further, wrapping his mouth around Dean’s cock as he presses a slick finger to his brother’s entrance. 

Dean’s eyes fly open, a wild expression on his face and his hips buck, cock pulsing heavily and Sam knows he’s on the edge, so he presses his index finger into that tight heat to the first knuckle while simultaneously burying Dean’s cock in the warm wetness of his mouth, and Dean comes with a strangled cry of Sam’s name, hips snapping in futility as Sam sucks him dry. 

When Dean’s come lands hot and heavy on his tongue, Sam moans thickly and his free hand is flying to his crotch, palming swiftly at his aching erection. He digs the heel of his hand into it and he comes, the orgasm sending his head spinning even while he brings his brother back down from the edge, his mouth going slack for just an instant. He tightens his mouth as soon as he feels a dribble of come slip out, catching the rest of it in his mouth and swallowing it down.

Sam doesn’t stop milking Dean’s cock until Dean makes an abortive movement to squirm away, and only then does he let Dean’s spent cock slide from his mouth. He lets out a shaky laugh, wiping at his chin with the back of his hand and rocking back onto his heels as he eases to the ground gently. He grimaces at the feel of his spend spreading in his underwear, forcing the fabric to cling to him uncomfortably, but he’s too blissed out to move.

The itch is gone, and this is the closest Sam’s felt to whole since before he took his trip downstairs. He lets his head fall back against the bed behind him, a wide, easy grin spreading on his face.  He almost can’t believe it really happened; he’s been waiting and wanting and watching for so long, it’s surreal.

The mattress Dean’s on creaks, and Sam slowly opens his eyes. The grin falters, and slowly fades when he sees the expression on Dean’s face. The wall is back up, even more than when it was at its worst. Dean slowly pushes himself up off the bed, carefully avoiding making eye contact with Sam again as he grabs the bag of saline off the bedpost.  Sam has to fight the snarl threatening to tug his lips up at the corners.

_ You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. _

“Dean?” Sam tries, rolling to his feet and closing the distance between them in two short strides. He reaches out to grab Dean’s shoulder, freezing in place when his brother visibly tenses as he catches the movement.

“Don’t touch me.” Dean’s voice is hollow, leaden, and Sam’s hand curls into a fist as it drops back to his side. Sam’s mind is spinning. What did he do wrong? Was it something he said? He thought Dean had enjoyed himself. He’d given Dean plenty of opportunities to put a stop to what they were doing, and hell, Dean practically threw himself at Sam back out in the woods.

“I don’t understand,” Sam starts again, brow furrowing in confusion.  Neither of them move, save for the rapid rise and fall of Dean’s chest.  “Isn’t this what you wanted? I thought-”

“I don’t give a damn what you thought,” Dean snaps, finally whirling to face Sam, and Sam takes a step back at the intensity of his brother’s expression. Hurt, anger, betrayal, are all whirling around behind his eyes, and that just makes Sam even more confused.  

“Why are you doing this?” Sam says quietly, allowing a bit of hurt to creep into his tone. 

Dean barks out a humorless laugh, running his hand across his face.

“Why am I…? Are you fucking kidding me?  _ This _ ,” Dean spits, jabbing a hand at Sam and waving it between them to indicate what just happened, “wasn’t supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen. I forgot, for one fucking second, that my brother is still in hell. I was half-delirious from blood loss, and I allowed myself to pretend that you were my brother. But you’re not.”

Sam’s mouth falls open, so completely taken aback by this outpouring. He snaps his mouth shut, then opens it again to speak, but Dean thrusts a finger up angrily, a  silent “shut up i’m not done,” and he closes it again with a cross of his arms.

“You’re not my brother. You’re wearing his skin, and sometimes when you look at me, I-” Dean bites his lip aggressively to choke back a sob. “But you’re not him. So don’t fucking touch me again, or so help me, I will blast your goddamn hand off. Got it?”

“Fuck you, Dean,” Sam spits back with a snarl. Dean looks too shocked to respond, so he keeps going. “Whatever the fuck this is, it’s been building between us for a long fucking time. Sure, maybe a momentary lapse in judgment is what pushed you to finally act on it, but don’t you dare pretend for one fucking second that this wasn’t what you wanted. I may not be the version of your brother you wanted, but I’m all you’ve fucking got, so you’d better get used to it.”

Sam shoves Dean’s shoulder roughly as he storms past him, snatching the keys of the Impala from his discarded jacket. 

“Where are you going?” Dean yells as Sam yanks open the door.

“What the fuck do you care? Like you said, I’m not your brother,” Sam snaps, words laced with venom, and he doesn’t even bother looking back as he slams the door behind him. 

He shoves himself angrily into the Impala and peels out, sending dirt and pebbles flying as he heads back toward the highway.  His phone is buzzing in his pocket, but he ignores it as he speeds toward the nearest town.

Tonight he’s going to get blackout drunk and find a warm willing body to fuck in the way his brother refuses to admit he wants.   
  
_ Fuck you, Dean _ . 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean pushes back, and Sam is tired of his brother's goddamn martyr complex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Sam definitely violates Dean's boundaries, but he stops before anything more than heavy petting.

Sam’s knuckles are white against the steering wheel as he drives. His phone is ringing and ringing in the passenger seat, but every time he looks over at it and sees Dean’s name on the caller ID, he sees red. Just as he hits the city limits of the closest town he could find, it rings again, the screen lighting up as though it’s taunting him.  Sam picks up the phone and chucks it into the backseat forcefully. 

He gave Dean exactly what he wanted. He didn’t ask for anything in return. He waited for him to say no. Dean gave him green lights at every fucking junction. 

Sam makes a wordless noise of frustration and anger.  

He might have ruined everything, and he doesn’t even understand what he did wrong. He thought he read all the signs correctly, so why is Dean pushing him away? Why is he so angry?

Sam grunts again in frustration as he pulls into the parking lot of a hole-in-the-wall type bar, and he shoves his hands in his pockets as he walks to the entrance. 

The place is dimly lit, about what you’d expect from a dingy bar in the middle of nowhere, but Sam doesn’t care about that. His eyes are glued to the dark-haired man in a worn leather jacket chatting up the bartender. The bartender nods in Sam’s direction, and the man turns, dark blue eyes meeting Sam’s and they’re wrong, so wrong but all Sam sees is green. The value brand Dean smiles slowly, a panty-dropping grin that is full of promise, and by the time Sam smiles in return, he’s hard. 

If Dean isn’t willing to play ball, Sam has no qualms taking what he wants from this cheap knock-off.

He slides onto the barstool next to the man, who gives Sam his name,  Eric, not that Sam actually  _ cares _ .  Eric is smiling and flirting and laughing at Sam’s jokes, and the bartender winks conspiratorially when the Dean-clone buys a drink for Sam, who’s having a hard time containing his ear-to-ear grin. This guy isn’t Dean, but he isn’t having a crisis of morality every other week over being in love with his brother, so he’ll take it. 

Sam has laid down a good foundation with glancing looks at the curve of Dean-clone’s mouth, licking his lips when Dean-clone’ licks the salt off his hand, letting his eyes trail down to ogle appreciatively at Dean clone’s bobbing throat as he swallows his drink. When he knows the guy’s in it hook line and sinker, Sam slides off his barstool, brushing the palm of his hand against the small of he man’s back as he walks by. He can feel the shiver that jolts up the man’s spine as Sam’s fingers ghost across his skin through the thin t-shirt, and Sam knows that he’s being followed into the bathroom. As the door shuts behind him, Sam grins, and when the Dean-clone steps in after him, he’s on him in an instant. He has a rough hand at the back of the man’s neck, and Sam is all tongue and teeth, and he kisses like a tactical strike. His tongue is mapping every inch of his victim’s mouth, shoving the other’s tongue aside and taking what he wants. In moments he has completely dominated this man, who is clutching at Sam’s shoulders and moaning into his mouth, and the taste of whiskey is heavy enough on his tongue that Sam can pretend he’s actually kissing Dean. He closes his eyes and gives himself over to the fantasy, groaning thickly into the shorter man’s mouth and he knows he’s imagining it but he can taste Dean in this stranger’s mouth and it makes his head spin. He bites his way from the man’s mouth to his neck where he sinks his teeth in just hard enough to hurt, and he briefly wonders if the man will push him off or try to speak, but he doesn’t. Instead, he arches up into it, crying out roughly as he grinds his erection into Sam’s hip.  Sam chuckles darkly into the man’s neck before pulling back enough to unfasten his pants and pull his leaking cock out, and he groans as not-Dean wraps his fingers around it eagerly, jerking him in sure, fluid motion. Sam snaps his hips into the man’s fist, pulling his shirt up enough to stay out of the way and then he has a hand in the man’s hair, pushing him down, down, down and his head falls back with a deep groan as not-Dean’s lips wrap around his cock.  
  
“ _ Fuck _ ,” Sam whispers harshly as not-Dean swallows his dick down until he’s gagging, and tears are forming in the corners of his eyes, and Sam thinks that might be the hottest thing he’s ever seen. He fists his hands in the man’s hair and begins fucking his mouth in earnest, and the man below him only loosens his jaw and lets himself be used. Sam hisses in pleasure, his face screwing up with it as he starts to get close. Fingers rough in the man’s hair, Sam slows down the pace, slowly pumping in and out of the overwhelming wet heat, and he grins ferally at the way not-Dean chokes on it when Sam’s cock throbs. He roughly pulls not-Dean off his dick, who splutters and coughs, his chin shiny with his own spit and Sam grins at him. Hand firmly in the man’s hair, Sam pulls him to his feet and chases the taste of his precome on not-Dean’s tongue, fingers digging sharply into not-Dean’s hips as he whirls him around and crowds him against the sink. 

“If you want me to stop, now would be the time,” Sam growls in not-Dean’s ear as he grabs either side of the man’s pants and pauses, but when not-Dean presses back into his groin with a moan, and a roughly growled “don’t you fucking dare,” and Sam can pretend the rough baritone is Dean’s strung-out tenor, and he pushes the denim roughly down to not-Dean’s ankles. He sucks two fingers into his mouth and coats them with saliva before pressing those wet digits against the man’s hole, groaning as they slowly breach that tight heat. Not-Dean rocks his hips backward impatiently, and Sam groans when the man fucks himself on Sam’s fingers. Sam’s captivated, watching his fingers getting greedily sucked up, and he’s content to watch for a few moments, but then he puts a stilling hand on the man’s hips and pulls out his fingers, relishing the disappointed whimper of not-Dean as he grabs a condom out of his jacket pocket and rips it open with his teeth. He watches the man watching him in the mirror for just a second as he rolls the condom on his dick, but the dissonance between reality and the fantasy he’s carefully crafted for himself is too intense, so he looks back at his cock as he presses the blunt head against the man’s entrance, biting his lip to stifle a hoarse shout as he slowly sheathes himself to the hilt inside the man’s ass. 

He grinds his hips experimentally, grinning sharply at the keening noise of not-Dean beneath him. With that encouragement, he pulls out until just the head is barely inside, reveling in the way not-Dean’s thighs tremble, and he snaps his hips forward, drawing a rough cry from the man below him as he bottoms out in a single movement. He can feel the head of his cock sliding brutally against the man’s prostate with every thrust, and he sets an unforgiving pace, fingers pressing bruises into the man’s hips. Each thrust has the man off-balance, and not-Dean shoots his arms out to bracket the sink and holds on for dear life as Sam fucks him mercilessly. Sam’s hand snakes into his hair and pulls sharply, wrenching another keening cry from not-Dean, and he can feel his balls begin to tighten as orgasm creeps up on him. 

With a feral smile, Sam reaches around to grasp the man’s cock, pumping roughly in time to the harsh pace and not-Dean is keening, spilling over Sam’s fist and spasming around his cock, and Sam lets out a guttural groan at the tightening friction. He’s so close, so close, and he looks at the back of not-Dean’s neck and sees freckles there that are so reminiscent of Dean’s, and then he’s coming, pumping and filling the condom with semen as the world tilts on its axis for just a moment. 

He slumps, hips making abortive movements as he presses his forehead against the man’s back, and the man below him exhales an unsteady breath and says, “That was amazing, holy shit,” and his voice is wrong wrong wrong. The fantasy is shattered, and Sam pulls out, which wrenches another moan from not-Dean -  _ Eric _ \- but Sam’s already turning away, tying off the condom and throwing it into the waste bin by the sink.  
  
“Thanks,” Sam says with no real conviction behind it, already miles away - about forty-five precisely  -  as he zips his pants back up and heads for the door.

“Wait!” Eric calls after him, and Sam pauses. “Aren’t you going to tell me your name? You did just fuck my brains out.”

“No.”  
  
With that, Sam’s out the door, heading for the entrance of the bar, keys to the Impala already in his hand. 

He has no idea what he’s going to say to Dean when he gets back, but if there’s any shred of hope to recover whatever’s left of them, he’s going to do it. He needs Dean. Not as much as Dean needs him, but he’s not going to give up without a fucking fight. Not if there’s a chance for Dean to still belong to him.

\--

Sam shifts uncomfortably in the seat of the Impala as he drives home. Something gnaws restlessly in his stomach, and if Sam had his soul, he would call the feeling anxiety. He has no idea what Dean is going to say when he gets back, or if he’ll say anything at all. 

He can’t help the way the car slows down, or the way his fingers drum against the steering wheel as he drives. Too much is at stake. 

The forty-five minute drive takes over an hour, and Sam grits his teeth as he pulls up in front of the cabin, making a small noise of surprise as he sees the lights are still on inside. He supposes he shouldn’t be that surprised. Dean is worse than a mother hen. He was conditioned to worry about Sam since he was four years old, and old habits die hard. 

Sam kills the engine and just sits in the car for another twenty minutes, watching as Dean keeps pacing the room, presumably to avoid checking the window to make sure that Sam’s actually there. Eventually, he decides that he can’t delay the inevitable any longer, and opens the car door and clambers out and walks to the entrance. Through the window he can see the way Dean tenses at the noise, and Sam takes a steadying breath before opening the cabin door. 

Dean is leaning against the table with a fifth of whiskey in his hand, and Sam’s eyes narrow. With that much blood loss, it wouldn’t be hard for Dean to give himself alcohol poisoning, even with the saline. 

“Where did you go?” Dean asks, his voice mild and casual, but the stormy expression on his face belies his tone.

Sam shoots a glare at Dean, who is still pointedly not looking at him, while he shrugs out of his jacket and puts the keys of the car on the nightstand with a little more force than necessary.

“What do you care?” Sam snaps, echoing the statement he hurled at Dean like a knife before he stormed out earlier. He turns his back to Dean, and he can feel his brother’s eyes on him. 

_ Coward, _ Sam thinks with no small amount of venom.

“God damn it, Sam,” Dean says, sounding utterly defeated. “Even without a soul you’re still a goddamn child.”

Sam whirls around at that, meeting Dean’s surprised expression with a snarl.

“ _ I’m  _ the child? That’s rich, coming from the guy who’s deluded himself for years and continues to do now!”

“And what exactly have I deluded myself about now?” Dean says derisively, and Sam shoots him a withering glare. 

“You’ve got this fucking martyr complex where you can’t ever take anything for yourself or you’re being selfish. Like you think you don’t deserve anything good.” Sam watches as Dean’s jaw clenches, his expression stony. Bingo. “And what’s worse, we’ve both been dancing around this- this- this  _ thing _ ,” Sam enunciates the word with an angry jab of his hand at the space between them, “between us for months, and when you finally let down your guard enough to act on it, you blame it on the fucking blood loss!”

Dean growls, pushing himself to his feet and slamming the glass down on the table as he rounds on Sam.

“Fuck off, Sam,” he snarls, and up comes that fucking accusing finger that Sam is  _ so _ tired of being pointed in his direction. “There’s something wrong with me. I’m supposed to protect you, and I’ve been sick for a long time, feeling the way about you that I do, but that doesn’t mean I ever wanted to act on it! You pushed me into this, and you fucking know it!” 

Sam is about to contest pretty much every point Dean is trying to make, but Dean’s wagging that goddamn finger in his face. “Shut up, I’m just getting started,” Dean snaps, and Sam crosses his arms and fixes Dean with a very dangerous version of his bitch-face. “You pushed me, knowing that I was weak and not all there, and that right there is how I  _ know _ you’re not my brother. Sammy would never have done that. Sammy would have left well enough alone. So you may have his body, but you’re not. fucking. him. And nothing you can do now is going to change that.” 

Sam growls impatiently, rolling on the balls of his feet, and when Dean  _ finally _ shuts the fuck up, he lunges forward right into Dean’s space, bracketing his body against Dean’s so that almost every part of them is touching.

“What the fuck, Sam?” Dean shouts, trying to jump away, but Sam has firm hands on both of his wrists. “Get  _ away _ from me,” Dean murmurs roughly, and Sam just smiles at him, a glittery knife of a smile that has the green in Dean’s eyes swallowed up with black. He gulps audibly and leans as far away from Sam as he can, turning his head away to break the connection that’s thrumming under both of their skin.  Sam isn’t having any of that, though, so he grabs Dean’s jaw lightning-quick and forcibly tilts his brother’s head up to look at him.

“All of that is bullshit and we both know it, Dean,” Sam murmurs, his voice almost a whisper at the corner of Dean’s mouth, and he grins at the shiver that wracks down Dean’s spine. He sees anger and maybe a little bit of fear in his brother’s eyes as he stares down at him, but he also sees the desire swirling around behind everything else. He knows that his own eyes are dark and hungry, and he can feel Dean tremble beneath him. “You were different when you got back from Hell. You were vicious and bloodthirsty in ways that I couldn’t even have begun to comprehend back then. You came back different. You weren’t the same as you were before your trip downstairs.  Hell, you’ve even gotten  _ more _ vicious and bloodthirsty and angry. But did I hold that against you? No. I accepted you, even though I didn’t understand.”

Sam pauses briefly to nip at Dean’s jaw before pressing his nose into Dean’s neck and inhaling. 

“You smell like blood and violence Dean,” Sam murmurs against his brother’s skin, noting the violent tremor that works its way down Dean’s body.  “I’m  _ different _ , Dean. Your forty years with Alistair was  _ nothing _ compared to centuries trapped with Lucifer and Michael. I was there for eons, Dean,” Sam whispers into Dean’s ear, and Dean’s hand closes around his forearm. Sam thinks Dean might try to dislodge him again, but he doesn’t, just closes his fingers into a fist around the fabric of Sam’s sleeve, as if to ground himself. He grins as he notices that Dean’s hand is shaking. “The Devil himself tortured me for centuries.” Sam’s other hand slides to Dean’s hip and dips under the fabric of Dean’s shirt, and Sam revels in the feeling of his brother’s taut muscles fluttering under his touch. “And when Lucifer got bored, Michael took over. Michael was far worse.” He presses a kiss at the hollow of Dean’s throat, and from that vantage point he can hear the rough whimper that Dean tries to suppress. 

“I held out for several hundred years, Dean, but eventually I couldn’t take it any more. Lucifer wanted my submission, and I gave it to him. In return, he taught me things. I should feel bad for what I did to Adam, to Michael,” Sam trails off as he licks the bead of sweat sliding down the tendon of Dean’s neck.  “There was no mercy. I’ve done things, Dean. Horrible things. Things that should have me on the floor in a drooling heap of insanity and guilt.” Sam traces his way back up to Dean’s mouth with his tongue and his lips, and the way Dean’s breath rattles shakily in his chest has him soaring.  “But here I am. And I know I’m not the brother you hoped for. I know a part of me is missing. But I’m here, now.” Sam rolls his hips into Dean’s, and Dean keens softly. His breath is coming hard now, and they’re both hard. “I’m all you’ve got, Dean, and you’re going to learn to be okay with that.” There’s no question, no uncertainty in Sam’s tone. Dean  _ will _ learn to be okay with it. He’ll come to love this version of Sam.  

Sam drifts his hand to the back of Dean’s neck and up into his hair, where he pulls roughly, grinning as Dean cries out thickly. His neck is arched like a bow pulled taut, and his carotid artery pounds visibly under his skin. He’s vulnerable, and with Sam looking like a wild animal, Sam knows he feels it. Sam doesn’t ask for permission this time as he crushes their lips together, but Dean groans into the kiss anyway, and Sam presses the advantage to push his tongue into Dean’s mouth. He withdraws to bite at Dean’s lower lip, not enough to break skin but enough that it will be red and swollen, before pressing back in. Dean opens up to him like a flower, and Sam takes it all.  Dean’s hips are rocking absent-mindedly into Sam’s, and Sam isn’t even sure his brother is aware he’s doing it, what his body is asking for, but he slides his hands down to Dean’s hips anyway and lifts him up onto the table. Dean yelps in surprise, but the sound morphs into a deep groan as Sam uses his leverage to grind their cocks together. The friction is too much and not nearly enough, but it has Dean’s legs wrapping around Sam’s waist and pulling him closer.

“Pushy, pushy,” Sam chuckles into Dean’s mouth, who responds with another groan when Sam cups his ass in his hands and squeezes. Dean’s licking into his mouth with fervor, and that tears a groan out of Sam this time, but then he’s pulling away abruptly, leaving Dean reeling with the loss of so much sensation.

“I won’t lay another hand on you, Dean. Not until you beg me to,” Sam promises darkly, and Dean shudders violently at the intent in his tone. “And I promise you, Dean. You  _ will _ beg me to.”

Without waiting for a reply, Sam grabs the bag full of incendiaries and bottles of hairspray, and heads for the door. 

“Where the fuck are you going with that?” Dean protests, his voice still rough with lust as he steps toward Sam. He freezes in his tracks when Sam turns, eyes still dark with violence and desire.

“I’m going to clear out that nest,” Sam says, hoisting the bag up higher on his shoulder. “You’re not in good enough condition to help. You need to heal, and I’m gonna go get it done.” 

Dean huffs indignantly and turns his back to Sam, adjusting his hard-on as discreetly as he can while he picks up his glass of whiskey. 

“Ah!” Sam tuts, snatching the glass out of Dean’s hand and pouring it down the sink, and he grabs the bottle off the counter for good measure, turning to leave.

“Hey, jackass, you can’t just take the only alcohol in the house after molesting me to death!” Dean shouts indignantly, but Sam just cackles, shoving the bottle in his backpack as he heads back out into the woods.  
  
Sam’s sure that Dean will masturbate while he’s gone, and in the meantime, he’s got some monsters to kill.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam picks a fight, but Dean's just tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this update isn't on time, everybody! I've been working really hard to keep to the weekly monday updates, but things get a little hectic around here from time to time. 
> 
> I'm also participating in the spn rare fic challenge over on tumblr, so be sure to check out my blog theywere-neverhomeless! Come hang out, say hi!

Sam finds the charred corpses of the wendigos he wasted after a few miles trek from where he left the car, and he knows that they must have been close to the den when Dean got hurt. He pulls out one molotov and lights the rag, hefting it in his hand as he holds a flashlight with the other. 

It might not be the wisest decision to take on even half a pack of wendigos by himself, Sam thinks to himself as a branch cracks loudly ahead of him, but he can’t let Dean get himself killed. Besides, since he’s lost his soul, Sam has become ruthlessly efficient. If anyone can take out a pack of wendigos single-handed, it would probably be Sam.

A deafening roar resounds in the darkness around him, and Sam’s adrenaline spikes harshly. His heartbeat is pounding in his ears, and he’s wired, ready for the slightest movement.  One eventually steps into the clearing, and Sam is running forward, taking it by surprise, and the glass shatters on the monster’s torso, dousing it in alcohol. Milliseconds later, the flame touches the liquid and the monster bursts into flames, screaming.

Sam snarls out a grin, and he bellows, “come get some, you sons of bitches!” His voice booms, resounding into the forest before fading, and for several long moments, the only sound to be heard is that of his own pulse and his staggered breathing.

And then, he hears it. Branches snapping, thuds resounding, and one even lets out a shriek that sounds a little too much like Dean for his liking. The grin fades, and he’s running, one hand shoving into his pocket for the zippo and the other closing around another liquor bottle. The first one bursts through the trees and Sam alters direction as he tries to light the rag, pulse pounding when the flint sputters a few times before finally erupting into flames. The second the rag is lit, Sam turns around and chucks it, rewarded with another scream. 

He’s really pissing the others off now, and he briefly wonders if he has enough bombs for them all as he hears them shrieking and snarling behind him. 

After two more go up in smoke, he thinks there’s only one left. 

“ _ Sammy!”  _ Dean’s voice rips through the trees, and Sam growls in anger but doesn’t slow down a hair. He can hear it jumping through the trees behind him, and when he gets to another clearing, he skids to a stop, pulling his bag off his back and lighting the last bottle aflame as he waits for it to make its move. 

“ _ Sam, help, please!” _  The monster cries out in Dean’s voice again, and Sam lets out a wordless yell to drown it out. A part of him wonders if Dean wandered out after him and got caught, but the rest of him knows it’s just a cheap trick to throw him off-guard. 

“Come and get me, you ugly motherfucker!” Sam roars, his face twisting into a dangerous shadow of a smile as the thing finally comes out and charges him head-on. He starts running, and he nearly chokes on his breath when the thing swipes at him, but he ducks. 

Fire spreads from his shoulder, and he cries out sharply as his arm crumples. He’s dropped the lighter, and blood is dripping hotly down his arm, but he hoists the bottle in his hand and throws it, hard. It connects, engulfing the creature in flames and it burns, screaming horribly. Sam huffs out a shaky breath as he lets himself sink to his knees, finally clutching his arm that’s still bleeding freely.

“Fuck,” he murmurs to no one in particular, panting harshly as he rocks back onto his heels. With shaking fingers, he slowly rips a strip of fabric from his shirt and uses his teeth to bind the wound tightly. He cries out quietly as the fabric presses into his wound, but after a moment the compression starts to feel better.  Another few moments, and he’s able to stand without the world spinning, and he slowly makes his way back to the car. Dean might kill him for bleeding on the seat, but Sam can’t really find it in himself to care as he drives back to the cabin.

Even though Sam was gone for several hours, Dean is still awake, waiting up for him, and when Sam stumbles through the door covered in blood, Dean launches to his feet, ignoring his own pain to catch Sam when he trips on the carpet.

“Dude, what happened to you?” Dean says as he notes the sleeve covered in mostly-dried blood and the ripped hem at the bottom of the shirt, and he slides his arm around Sam’s waist to help him sit down on the bed.

“I didn’t duck fast enough,” Sam laughs, and he notes that Dean’s concern for him has overridden any residual feelings Dean had over what happened just before he left.

“Did you get ‘em all?” Dean asks, eyes flicking up to Sam’s face and then back to his arm where Dean is untying the makeshift dressing before unbuttoning Sam’s shirt and sliding it off. 

“Of course I did,” Sam replies in mock offense, lips twitching up in a grin at Dean’s relieved expression.

“That’s my boy,” Dean says with an answering smile as he digs in Sam’s pack for the bottle of alcohol he swiped, and he pulls Sam’s arm to him firmly. Sam’s gaze is heavy on his brother’s face, but Dean ignores him, focusing on cleaning Sam’s wound.  “Well, you got off lucky,” Dean says as he dabs away the blood and reaches for the first aid kit. “Definitely didn’t get shredded like I did.” 

Sam looks down with mild interest, and he sucks in a breath at the gaping wound spanning the meat of his shoulder. It sparks memories in him that have him shivering, eyes glazing over, and Dean looks at him with concern as he threads the needle and holds it over the flame of his lighter for a few seconds. He wipes off the black with his shirt and then he’s got his hands around Sam’s wound, threading it closed, and Sam has to bite back a moan at the pain. 

Dean’s eyes flit up to his sharply, and Sam bites his lip when he sees how dark they are. But unlike Sam, Dean isn’t willing to do anything about the tension between them, so he returns to his task. When Dean leans forward, face right up against the cut, Sam inhales sharply, head spinning with want for a dangerous instant, but Dean is only clipping the thread with his teeth and he’s out of Sam’s personal space as quickly as he invaded it. 

“There you go,” Dean says in a forced casual tone, and he stands back up and puts as much distance between them as he’s able. 

Sam growls quietly in frustration, but he promised Dean he wouldn’t touch him until he begged for it. He intends on making good on that promise. 

“You sure you got ‘em all?” Dean asks again, wincing as he stretches, stopping the action mid-movement to avoid ripping his stitches.  
  
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Sam confirms as he lays back on his bed. 

“Awesome. That means we can hit the road tomorrow.”

Sam snorts, and Dean looks at him dubiously.

“Not fucking likely, Dean. You still need to heal. You got cut pretty bad, and it’ll be a couple days before you’re back to full strength.”  Sam’s tone is very final, and Dean sighs, resigned. 

“Fine, whatever. One day. Then we leave.”

“‘Kay.”

With that settled, silence stretches between them, like a hungry animal. Sam’s fingers twitch with the compulsion to do something, anything, but he ultimately stills them in the comforter and sinks further into the bed.

Dean is back at the table, cleaning and oiling and sharpening their weapons again, and Sam cracks an eye open to watch. His brother’s fingers are nimble, skating over each weapon with an easy grace. Sam longs to have Dean under him, wrecking him from the inside out, making him come completely undone. He wants to tear Dean apart and remake him, stitch by stitch. 

Instead, he just watches. He knows Dean can feel his gaze on him by the tense set of his shoulders, as though he’s expecting Sam to say something, or worse, to come over there and invade his space again. But he does neither, just watches. And eventually Dean relaxes, losing himself in the repetition of the task he set for himself.

By the time Dean goes to bed, sunlight is peeking through the window.   
  
Sam doesn’t sleep, but he closes his eyes and daydreams of Hell.

 

\--

 

Dean sleeps in late, and Sam uses his free time to work out. He strips to just his boxers and does push-ups on the floor until he’s shining with sweat, and then he rolls over and does crunches. With each repetition he gives a small grunt, and he’s sure that the small noises he’s making are what finally rouse Dean to consciousness. He’s sure that Dean thinks he’s jerking off by the tension of his neck, but when he slides to his feet and grabs the wooden beam above his head to do his chin-ups, Dean rolls over and watches him blearily. 

Sam pays no attention to Dean except for an obligatory “hey” when their eyes meet. He knows how good his body is, and he knows that Dean is taking advantage of the free show he’s being given. He can feel Dean’s hungry gaze on his body, and Sam doesn’t try to hide the way his cock plumps up against his thigh in his boxers.  He grabs the beam with the other arm, dropping the one he’d just been using to his side, flexing his muscles as he pulls himself up and lets himself down, every movement measured and controlled. He can feel the sweat bead at his forehead and at the nape of his neck, and it tickles as it slides down his spine. 

Sam’s eyes are drawn back to Dean’s face at the swift movement of Dean’s tongue flicking across his lips hungrily. Dean’s expression draws inward when he sees he’s been caught, and he heaves a sigh, tearing his gaze away from Sam’s body as he pushes himself upright. 

“How long you been at that, dude?” Dean says, voice still thick with sleep, trying to look anywhere but at Sam as he stumbles to his feet.  Sam glances at the clock.

“Forty-three minutes,” Sam says with only mild strain in his voice, and for a moment he’s sure Dean looks positively envious. Dean is pretty damn fit, but even he doesn’t have the attention span for a long workout by himself. And Sam’s sure it doesn’t help that Dean can’t work out right now without pulling his stitches. Two more minutes of Dean sitting awkwardly in bed watching Sam helplessly, and Sam slowly lowers himself to the floor. He pads over to his duffel and shoves his legs through his running shorts, pulls on a pair of socks and stuffs his feet in his shoes before he heads out the door.

“I’m going for a run, i’ll be back in an hour,” Sam says, looking at the clock briefly. “You go ahead and get ready, I’ll finish packing once I’ve had a shower.”

Dean grunts his assent, and Sam’s out the door. 

There’s nothing except the sound of his own footfalls out here, and Sam runs and runs until his muscles burn, and then he runs some more. After about a half hour of that, Sam jogs to a halt, stretching to absorb the lactic acid, and he hisses through his teeth at the pain that spikes up his body. It’s mild, but it sets his blood thrumming. Soon they’ll be on the road and Sam can start killing again.

 

\--

 

By the time he gets back to the cabin, Dean’s showered and dressed, with most of his bags in the impala. 

Sam huffs a greeting as he strips out of his shorts and boxers, knowing that Dean’s eyes are on him, they’re always on him, and he strides into the bathroom buck-naked, not even bothering to close the bathroom door as he turns on the shower. 

It sputters to life, and Sam climbs in, groaning as the hot water hits his skin. He showers quickly, and after a few minutes, Dean comes into the doorway. He knows Dean’s there because of the slight dip in the floorboard that creaks as his brother shifts his weight on it.

“So, I just got a call from Bobby,” Dean starts, raising his voice to be heard over the shower. 

“Yeah? We got a hunt?” Sam’s rinsing the suds out of his hair, and after a few more moments he spins the knobs on the shower, and the stream of water slowly trickles down to nothing. Dean hands him his towel, pointedly looking anywhere but him, and Sam grins as he tousles his hair with it, not bothering to cover himself as he steps out.

“Yep. Four people vanished, and get this,” Dean says with a grin, “ _ crop circles. _ ”

“What?” Sam says incredulously.

“Yeah dude, fucking crop circles show up at each place they’re taken.”

“You’re joking. Aliens?” Sam wrinkles his nose as he heads over to his duffel and starts getting dressed. Dean’s eyes are very pointedly fixed on his face, and he grins when Dean flushes in embarrassment. “I thought E.T. was rubber, totally fake.”

“Yeah, man, I know. Just when I thought nothing about this job could surprise me anymore.” Dean rubs the back of his neck out of reflex, wincing when the motion tugs on his wounds. 

“You sure you’re up for it?” Sam furrows his brow in what’s supposed to be concern as he pulls his pants up around his waist. Dean gives him A Look, but it’s gone before Sam can decipher it.

“I’m a little sore, but I’ll be fine,” Dean says, rolling his shoulders to chase away any tenderness in his muscles. Sam’s fingers twitch for an instant, and he’s fighting the compulsion to knead Dean’s shoulders and make him melt under his hands. Dean stills, tensing for a heartbeat, but when no touch comes, Dean’s posture relaxes. His eyes meet Sam’s for the briefest instant, but Sam is sure that he sees the disappointment shining in them, and he has to stifle the grin threatening to steal across his face.

He’s not going to give Dean the satisfaction of pushing through his boundaries, of giving him the deniability later to push Sam away and act like it wasn’t what he wanted all along. He wants to wait until Dean is begging for him, desperate and needy for his little brother.

Sam’s grin sustains him through dressing, through packing, and it lingers even as they head for Indiana.

He’s going to make Dean his, irrevocably, undeniably, irrefutably, permanently his.

 

\--

 

Fifteen hours in the car has Sam antsy, and Dean practically shoves him out of the car when they finally pull up to a motel in Elwood, Indiana. Dean’s running a short fuse himself, and Sam guesses it’s from the fact that there’s this pointed space between them now. Dean used to casually touch him constantly, and before Sam lost his soul, he did the same. But now, after everything that happened between them, the touches wouldn’t be casual anymore. So to avoid that, they just don’t touch at all.

Sam’s irritation bleeds into their work, and he snaps at pretty much every person they question. 

Most of the people are convinced it’s aliens, but one lady, a crazy cat-lady if Sam’s intuition is anything like it used to be, she thinks it’s  _ fairies _ . That’s the stupidest thing Sam’s ever heard, and he makes sure she knows it.

“Okay, if you want to add glitter to that glue you’re sniffing, that’s fine, but don’t dump your whackadoo all over us. We’d rather not step in it,” Sam says with a sneer, which falters when Dean grabs him by the elbow and drags him away after shooting the old lady an apology. If he had known that being abrasively upfront with people would have Dean touching him again, he’d have done it sooner.

When Sam’s back touches the wall of the building a few blocks away from the old lady, he looks down at Dean expectantly, a self-satisfied grin stealing across his face. Dean’s frown deepens, and he drops Sam’s arm like it burned him. Sam’s smile loses some ground, but he keeps it from falling off his face altogether.

“What’s this about, Dean?”

“Empathy, Sam! Jesus Christ, you’re like… I don’t even know, dude! What the hell, man?” Dean says, his voice just a touch frantic as he jabs a thumb back in the direction of crazy fairy lady. Sam snorts a laugh as the furrow between Dean’s eyebrows reaches comical proportions, and Dean’s scowl intensifies.

“It’s not fucking funny, dude,” Dean says, raising his voice to be heard over Sam’s laughter.

“It actually kind of is, though, Dean,” Sam says with another cackle. “Your face is just... “ Sam reaches out to Dean’s forehead to touch that hilarious,  _ adorable _ furrow between his brows, but stops an inch short. Dean sucks in a breath, and Sam drops his hands to his side. He’s going to prove to Dean that he meant what he said about not laying another finger on him, that he meant it quiet literally. 

So instead, he pulls an only slightly exaggerated version of Dean’s expression, who has the decency to look affronted for about five seconds, before his scowl crumbles in slow motion into a deep laugh that has Sam’s toes curling along with the spark of arousal curling to settle in his gut. He greedily drinks in the sight of Dean’s throat bared as he tips his head back to laugh, the flash of gorgeous white teeth framing a tongue that Sam remembers tasted like, what it felt like in his mouth. 

This is what Dean looks like when he’s happy. And it’s fucking delicious. 

Sam’s just drinking him in, eyes dark and hungry, and he realizes that Dean stopped laughing several seconds ago and is now just staring at him warily. He quirks up the corner of his mouth in a smirk that’s full of intent, and Dean licks his lips and steps closer despite himself. Sam lets the smirk turn into a grin, leaning forward into Dean’s space but not closing the gap. Dean’s gaze keeps flicking between Sam’s eyes and his mouth, utterly captivated, and for one exhilarating moment, Sam is sure that Dean’s going to close the space between them and kiss him. 

But instead Dean steps away, a flush rising to his cheeks, and he looks away sheepishly.

“We should uh, we should go talk to the father of the kid who disappeared,” Dean coughs, hiding his face behind a shaking hand, and Sam just nods with a grin and falls into step behind his brother as they walk back to the car.

This is going even more swimmingly than anticipated, and Sam couldn’t be happier. 

 

\---

 

When they get to Mr. Brennan’s house, Dean stops Sam from getting out of the car with a hand on his arm. Sam doesn’t bother hiding the way his eyes darken when they meet Dean’s, and Dean gives Sam’s arm a subconscious squeeze before pulling away just as quickly.

“Look, Sam,” Dean starts, tugging on his bottom lip with his teeth, and fuck if that isn’t distracting. “You gotta dial up the empathy, dude, okay? Quit snapping at people.”

Sam grimaces. Not this again. 

“Dean I can’t dial up something I don’t have. I thought we talked about this. I don’t give a rat’s ass about these people, you know that. The only thing I care about is you, I can’t pretend to care when I don’t. Pretending is what I did, that entire year, and then those months before we found out what was wrong with me. “

“I’m touched, Sam, really,” Dean says in a voice full of mock sympathy, and it sets Sam’s teeth on edge. “But pretending, not pretending, you’re still being a dick to people for no good reason. Can’t you even try to act like your old self?”

Sam glares at Dean and throws the Impala door open, and Dean’s scrambling out the other side. He clocks Dean’s wince as he slams the door with a grin, but the expression sours into a scowl.

“No, I can’t act like my old self Dean. It’s like asking you to act the way you were before Hell. I am the way I am, I thought we were on the same page about this,” Sam snaps. “It’s fucking exhausting pretending to have all these emotions, Dean, I was on edge all the time around you, trying to play the part of your sensitive, caring little brother. That dewy-eyed crap was  _ hard _ for me. I’m not gonna pretend anymore.” He crosses his arms over his chest in a gesture of finality.

“You know what, Sam? Fine. If you don’t wanna pretend, don’t pretend. But that doesn’t mean you have to go out of your way to share every mean thought you have about every person we ever talk to!” Dean says forcefully, jabbing that fucking finger at Sam and he really wants to break it. 

“I don’t go out of my way, Dean. It’s not like it’s hard to say what comes to my mind. Besides, I think I recall you giving me shit over the years for being  _ too  _ nice to the people we talk to. You used to be the mean one, so why am I suddenly the bad guy for it? I’m too nice, I’m too mean. There’s no middle ground for you, and I’m tired of it.” Sam lets just a glint of the violent predator inside shine through his eyes, and he’s gratified when Dean takes not one, but two steps back from him, expression wary.

“Whatever, Sam. Let’s just go talk to the dad,” Dean says with a defeated shrug, and Sam has to bite back a groan of frustration as he sees the wall come back up behind his brother’s eyes. One step forward two steps back. 

 

\--

 

“Mr. Brennan?” Dean says, and the old man finally looks up at the both of them. Sam watches as the man gives them both the once-over, sizing them up. His eyes linger fearfully on Sam for an extra heartbeat before focusing back on Dean.

“Yes? What do you want?”

“Yes, hi, we’re with the Mirror and we’d like to talk to you about your son,” Dean says, stepping closer and showing the man his credentials. Mr. Brennan remains impassive, however.

“My son is gone. Patrick is gone. What else is there to say?”

“Well,” Sam speaks up, taking his place next to Dean, who gives him a wary look that he pointedly ignores. “Your son was the first to go missing, and we-”

“Taken.”

“You think Patrick was taken?” Sam says, not bothering to hide his smile at the new information. Dean shoots him a glare behind Mr. Brennan’s back, and Sam quickly schools his expression.

“Get out,” Mr. Brennan says, looking stricken, as though he had accidentally revealed too much information. Sam and Dean share a look.

“Who do you think took your son, Mr. Brennan?” Dean says carefully, pulling out a small notepad.

“You can’t help me. He’s gone. He’s not coming back. Please leave,” the man says, and he sounds resigned, defeated, and  _ tired _ . Realization is beginning to dawn in Sam’s eyes as the cogs turn.

“You sound awfully sure,” he says, a small smirk pulling his lips up at the corners.

“Excuse me?” 

Anger flashes in Mr. Brennan’s eyes, and Sam smiles wider.

“You know something you’re not talking about. You know what happened to your son.”

Dean shoots Sam another glare, and apologizes to Mr. Brennan. Sam just rolls his eyes. It’s pretty obvious the guy’s guilty of  _ something _ .

“I don’t appreciate the accusation, son. You know what they say, after 72 hours the odds of finding a missing person alive drops to almost nothing. Patrick has been missing for a week,” Mr. Brennan says, voice trembling, but whether it’s with anger or guilt, Sam isn’t sure.

“You still know more than you’re letting on, don’t you?” Sam persists.

“I think it’s time for you two to leave,” Mr. Brennan says angrily. “I trust you know where the door is.”

“But-” Sam begins, but Dean cuts him off with a firm grip on his arm and he’s leading Sam out.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Brennan, good luck with the search,” Dean says as he shoves Sam out the door. As soon as it closes behind them, he rounds on Sam.

“What the fuck was that, Sam? ‘You know what happened to your son,’ “ Dean mimics in a mocking tone, glowering at Sam in a way that makes him want to split that pretty mouth with his knuckles just for the satisfaction of watching him bleed. “If you want him to close up faster than a goddamn clam, that’s fucking how.”

“Well I’m sorry, Dean, that my interrogation tactics don’t meet with your personal seal of approval,” Sam sneers, stepping into Dean’s space just enough to loom over him threateningly. Dean’s glare deepens, but he takes an involuntary step back.  “The dude’s obviously hiding something. I remember a time where you would have pushed him til he broke.”

“Yeah, well, I’m trying out this thing called  _ empathy _ , Sam, but I know you’ve never heard of it,” Dean snaps in reply, and Sam thinks Dean’s anger is beautiful, but he still would like to beat it out of him.

“You wanna say that again?” Sam says, his voice deep and threatening as he steps even further into Dean’s space. He’s expecting Dean to back down, like he has every other time today, but he doesn’t. He stands his ground, anger simmering behind his eyes and Sam thinks it’s fucking captivating.

“Back the hell off, Sammy,” Dean growls, and the voice washes through him with a blistering heat. In response, Sam smirks, and comes even closer, until their chests are almost touching.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Sam murmurs, grin widening when he sees Dean’s nostrils flare with the anger he’s trying to control. “What would you do if I didn’t keep pushing, you, huh? I know you wanna hit me, Dean. I know you blame me for not being what you wanted, and you want to take out that anger on me. Do it.”

And just like that, Dean deflates. 

“I’m not gonna hit you, Sam,” Dean says, and he sounds tired. Sam growls in frustration.

“You know you want to, Dean! Just do it!” Sam’s shouting now, but Dean’s turning away. 

“Just stop, Sam.”

“Fuck you,” Sam hisses, and he grabs his jacket and wallet out of Dean’s car and starts walking away. 

“Where are you going, Sam?” Dean calls after him, voice ringing with resignation.

“Back to the motel!” Sam yells, sighing as he plods to a halt. 

“Well, whatever. Sulk if you want to,” Dean says. “I’m going to go check out the place where the kid was taken. When you’re done with your tantrum, keep an eye on Mr. Brennan here.”

“Fine,” Sam says through clenched teeth, and he can hear Dean heave a deep sigh as he gets back in the Impala. Sam knows he’s being childish but he’s just so fucking irritated. He was so close, and then Dean got all righteous on him again. 

Sam refuses to look at Dean as his brother drives away, and just like he said he would, he walks all the way back to the hotel. He changes his clothes and sets aside the suit for the dry cleaners, donning his usual hunter attire instead before he calls himself a cab. 

The cab drops him off a few blocks away from the watchmaker’s house, and he keeps a respectable distance from himself and the place until he sees Mr. Brennan locking up and leaving.  He sticks to the shadows as he follows the man, and when he ducks into the local bar, Sam grins. It’s a lot easier to do surveillance when you’re able to be somewhere that you look like you’re  _ supposed _ to be.

Sam’s just slid into his seat and ordered his first beer when his phone rings. He shoves a hand into his jacket pocket and grimaces when he sees the caller ID light up his brother’s name.   
  
Grimace still firmly in place, Sam flips the phone open.

“What do you want, Dean?” Sam says, not bothering to hide the irritation in his tone.

“ _ I love you too, Sunshine _ ,” Dean snarks back, and Sam can practically see the smirk/snarl that Dean always gives when he’s being sarcastic. “ _ You watching the old man? _ ”

“Like a hawk. The only thing this guy’s up to is alcoholism.” Even as Sam says it, Mr. Brennan empties his third  _ large _ glass of beer and flags the bartender for another. 

“ _ Good. I’m out here in the field where Patrick was taken, and it’s fucking weird, dude. Legit crop circles. I’ve been tracing the diameter, and this puppy has to be at least fifteen feet across. The corn is burnt away, like something seared it when - god help me, Sam - when it landed.” _

“What, you’re buying the alien schtick now too?” Sam says incredulously, nodding to the waitress as she sets down his beer.

“ _ I mean, I don’t know, if it walks and quacks like a duck? All I know is that this is weird, Sam. Really weird.”  _

Sam laughs, taking a swig of his drink. The grin fades when he remembers that he’s mad at his brother. 

“Look, Dean, are we gonna talk about earlier?”

_ “What’s to talk about? You were a child, end of story _ ,” Dean says, and Sam grits his teeth to bite back the anger that threatens to cloud his vision.

“Fuck you, Dean. Your whole thing with m-”

_ Click. _

“Dean?” Sam says into the phone, pulling it away from his ear long enough to note that he’d been hung up on.

“Asshole,” he mutters, taking another angry gulp of his beer.  Fine. If Dean wants to play that kind of petty game, Sam will play. But Dean isn’t gonna like how it ends.


	12. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief look into Sam's experience in the cage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I would like to apologize for not having updated for several weeks. Some pretty awful stuff has happened and I'm in a pretty big state of upheaval. 
> 
> Content warning for abuse and assault mention  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .
> 
> On November 5th, my step-dad came into my room in the middle of the night and physically assaulted me. I moved into my friend Hannah's house the following morning and had most of my stuff moved into her place by the end of the week. I've been doing a lot in regard to moving somewhere safe, and I've either been too busy or too drained to focus on this fic. 
> 
> I should be done moving by mid-January, so hopefully a little bit after that I'll be settled. Until then, I won't be able to update this, and I'm so sorry for that. I feel awful leaving you all hanging, you're all so wonderful! I might still be posting shorter one-shots every now and then, and if this interlude is well-received I might continue it, but I don't have the emotional space right now to focus on progressing the main arc of this fic. I want to give you all my best, and I just can't do that right now. 
> 
> I love you all, I hope you enjoy this!

The moment they landed in the Cage, falling down and down and down for an eternity in itself, Sam knew he was well and truly fucked. 

The moment they landed, three things happened almost simultaneously. One, Lucifer was ripped from Sam’s body, and Sam screamed with the pain of the Devil’s grace being pulled so forcibly from where it was intertwined around his soul. Two, Michael was also ripped from Adam’s body in the same way, and in this plane beyond physical but not quite spiritual, Sam could feel the pulse of pain that echoed his own. Three, Michael lunged at Lucifer, and Sam made himself as small as he could in the corner of the cage. 

The two angels rattled the cage with their icy fury for days, months, centuries - Sam wasn’t sure, time didn’t pass here like it did topside - and what little Sam could stand to watch was brutal. He mostly just stayed huddled in that corner, trying to shield himself from the frosty light of the archangels. Eventually, though, the angels grew weary of fighting each other. Or perhaps it was Michael who grew weary of punishing Lucifer. Sam couldn’t bear to look at them in their heavenly glory, but what he saw was mostly Lucifer defending himself. He didn’t once see Lucifer lash out at Michael. He just took his brother’s fury silently, without complaint, as though he felt he deserved it. Sam remembered the ache of sadness, of longing that Lucifer felt when he looked at Michael in that field. He remembered the sharp sting of betrayal when Lucifer couldn’t make Michael understand, when Michael chose their Father over him. Again. 

In that moment, Sam truly sympathized with Lucifer. He knew what it felt like to be the castaway, to be rejected by family who you thought would have your back. He had begged Dean to come with him when he left for Stanford, but Dean couldn’t even look him in the eye. Dean couldn’t fathom a life free of their father and of the dark and deadly life they led. He didn’t value himself enough to dream of anything better. And so Dean turned away, and Sam’s heart broke. 

As Sam watched Lucifer take Michael’s punches out of his peripheral, his heart broke again. He could feel Lucifer’s sorrow, even separated as they were now that they’re down here. 

The sympathy didn’t last very long, though, because once Michael was done abusing Lucifer, he rounded on the two humans. Lucifer stayed away for a time, nursing his wounds while Michael strung up Sam and Adam and ripped into them, tearing flesh and crunching bone, setting them ablaze until they were nothing more than quivering husks. Then, he would heal them, and Sam could breathe, blessedly whole for an instant, before the torture would begin again. 

Their screams rattled the very foundations of Hell, and even the demons trembled. The wrath of Heaven was nothing to trifle with.

Sam didn’t know how long he withstood Michael’s torture, but one day he was screaming, and in the blink of an eye he was shielded in icy flame, Lucifer’s cold shadow cast over him as the Devil protected him from Michael’s wrath. 

“ _ Enough! _ ” Lucifer cried out, and the Cage shook with his power. 

Sam was saved.

At least for the moment. 

By the time Lucifer raised a hand against Sam, the hunter was so used to Michael’s wrath that he preferred Lucifer’s touch. It was painful, scalding, torturous, but it was almost gentle compared to his brother’s punishments. 

Step by careful step, Lucifer taught Sam to love the pain that he administered, taught him to beg for it, to need it. But more importantly, he taught him to withstand it. 

Lucifer was cruel in his own way. When Sam displeased him, he would let Michael get his hands on him. Michael would tear into him, ripping him open, and Sam would scream. At first he just screamed. He screamed for God, for Dean, for Bobby, even Castiel. But eventually, he screamed for Lucifer. 

If he screamed pretty enough, Lucifer would indulge him occasionally. The only time Lucifer truly intervened was when Michael tried to fuck Sam. He reacted swiftly and immediately, the moment Sam called out for him, flinging his panic toward the angel like a wordless beacon. Michael had barely touched him when Lucifer pulled him off and dragged him to a distant part of the Cage.  
  
Sam wasn’t sure what Lucifer did to his brother, but Michael never tried to touch him that way again.  


End file.
